Heart of Gold
by SerialRavist
Summary: A fic that drifts through the game, as seen through the eyes of Agrias. It's introspective, focusing largely on character interaction. All reviews welcomed.
1. Chapter 1: Facing Heaven

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy Tactics or any of the characters therein. I am using them without permission and will cease to do so if asked. Please don't sue.

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Chapter One: Facing Heaven 

"Don't blame us. Blame yourself or God." The gold-armored knight gives me a final dismissive glare, then ignores me. He leaps onto his waiting chocobo, next to where the stunned Ovelia is coughing weakly, then heels the feathered mount forward.

Fear grips my heart and twists my face as I chase, but the bird is too fast, even double-loaded. After a few paces I slow and slump to my knees, watching helplessly as they flee. "Oh, God," I whisper. I've been defeated, tricked. I want to blame that ass Gafgarion for being so eager to fight Goltana's men, but I know the bigger failure is on my part for having left Ovelia's side in the first place. I'm her bodyguard; my place is with her, not elsewhere. It's that simple.

My lips curve from the realization that I have unintentionally obeyed the nameless knight's command, but the gesture is one of bitterness rather than amusement. It is fleeting in any case.

Just past the corner of the monastery, the mercenary Ramza is staring after the knight with a bizarre expression of surprise. "Delita?" he asks, apparently of himself. "You're alive, Delita? But why are you in Goltana's troops? Why?" His voice is twisted with some pain he cannot conceal.

After a moment I stand and turn away from the receding chocobo; self-pity will accomplish nothing. I round the corner of the building and shoulder back through the door, already planning how to retrieve Princess Ovelia.

The inside of Orbonne Monastery passes in a blur as I stride through it. The knight cannot be far; despite his mount's speed, it will fatigue quickly through the rough terrain around here, since he cannot take the roads, and carrying two riders will slow it further. He left over the water, though, so perhaps the bird will have an easier time of it for an hour or so.

It matters little, I decide. The man is leaving Orbonne, which means he is heading for Dorter now, whatever his ultimate destination might be.

Coldly I push through the front doors of the monastery and glance around. Everyone but me has congregated to discuss the battle, it seems.

"...know who kidnapped her?" Gafgarion is asking. Curiosity and mild surprise edge his otherwise rough voice.

Ramza doesn't answer; his entire body radiates unease. His eyes dart to me as I approach.

"He's taking Princess Ovelia with him," I declare. "Can't be that far."

Gafgarion turns to me. "Are you going after him?"

"Of course!" I snap. "I couldn't face the royal family unless I do." What kind of bodyguard walks away after her charge is abducted? No, he's just trying to goad me. I take a slow breath, trying to calm down.

The veteran mercenary raises a cool eyebrow. "We won't help you," he states flatly. "It's not in the contract!"

"We don't need help from one who's not even a knight!" I counter hotly. "A knight must fix his own mistakes. This is one of our responsibilities as guards!" I pause for a moment, again attempting to let some anger go. I have my faults, I know, and the inability to watch what I say when I'm angry is one of them.

Finally I sigh, turning to my subordinates. "Lavian, Alicia, let's go!" I'll be glad to be done with these cutthroats anyway.

Before anyone can react, Simon, the old priest, shuffles out of the monastery. His eyes dart all about, doubtless searching for Ovelia.

I hurry over to him. "Are you all right, milord?"

He brushes my question aside tensely. "The Princess... how is she?"

She's gone, is how she is. I shake my head sadly. "I'm very sorry. I swear I'll get her back!"

"No," he protests weakly. "You'd be in danger..."

I find myself wondering if the attack has caused his wits to flee. I'd be in _danger?_ Being in danger is what I do. How can he think my life is worth anything in comparison with Ovelia's? "Don't worry," I assure him, keeping my voice as firm as I dare to a priest of his standing. "I swear on my knight's honor I'll save her!"

Abruptly Ramza steps forward. "I'll go, too!" he declares. "I won't be a burden!"

Surprised, I glance at him in question. What kind of mercenary is he? As much as I distrust his kind, his apparent unprofessionalism makes it worse; sellswords do not, as a rule, volunteer. Then again, I saw him in the battle against the Black Lion's men just moments ago. Though he's a squire, he fights like a knight. He must have studied somewhere.

"Are you crazy?" snarls Gafgarion, rounding on the younger man. "This is none of your business!"

"I have to know!" insists Ramza earnestly, turning to stare off into the wilderness. "I must see it with my own eyes!" His apparent rashness, his openness with his motivations, strike me as somehow forced and thus suspicious, and it occurs to me that I am starting to dislike him.

Gafgarion seems as impatient as I am. "You mean, that boy you saw?"

Ramza nods slowly. He says nothing, fortunately.

His commander grunts in disgusted resignation. "You're stubborn as a mule. Don't cry to me for help if something happens!" Rad, the other mercenary, shakes his head silently.

Lips tightening, I suppress my simmering frustration and address Ramza, as it saves me from speaking to Gafgarion. "Your blades will be... appreciated on this journey," I allow politely. "There are no chocobos to spare here, so we must make the hike to Dorter." Damn it. The coastline makes several odd jags around here, so if Ovelia's captor has crossed a waterway we'll have to go around, he'll have gained hours on us. Chocos aren't reliable swimmers, though, not burdened so heavily, so perhaps there is reason for optimism.

"Agrias," begins Simon, shuffling towards me, hands outstretched, "may God favor your journey. I know you will retrieve the Princess safely."

I clasp his hands in my reinforced gloves. "Thank you, Simon. You needn't worry."

The old priest smiles, somehow making the gesture include everyone present. "Go with God."

"You too, Simon." Without another word I turn my back on him and regard the motley party I'll be taking with me. "Does anyone need to potion up before we travel?" I ask, eyeing Alicia significantly. "Anyone with wounds?"

Gafgarion chuckles richly. "What," he wonders sarcastically, "no white magic? No gentle words of prayer to soothe our pains? Must a Holy Knight lower herself to using chemists' concoctions?"

You're such an ass, Gafgarion. "Magic is not to be wasted," I reply curtly. "Potions are only slightly more expensive than wine."

"Oh, wine," answers the dark knight with false joviality. "You in the church know all about wine, I imagine."

"It is used ceremonially," I remind him coldly. Before he can answer, I turn to Alicia and frown at the bleeding wound in her left thigh, a gift from one of the Black Lion's late archers, a fellow still on the ground not twenty paces away.

The knight grits her teeth and forces a smile. "It doesn't hurt," she lies. At least she's pulled the arrow out of the injury.

I let coldness touch my face and voice. "You'll slow us down like that. I'm not in the mood for nonsense." Certainly not with Ovelia gone. My God, Alicia's as bad as a man sometimes.

Beside me, Lavian rummages around in one of the packs and produces a glass bottle, which she pushes towards the other woman, nodding encouragingly. With a sigh, Alicia uncorks the thing and drinks it, then waits while the wound knits itself back together, leaving bloodstains and a hole in her breeches.

"Anyone else?" I ask darkly, eyeing the rest of the group, but everyone else just shakes their heads. Gafgarion sighs heavenward, clearly bored.

"Fine," I grunt. "Let's go." Without another word I stride through the party, away from the monestary. Lavian and Alicia follow, hurrying to catch up, and the mercenaries do likewise.

Quickly Orbonne disappears into the trees behind us as we travel along the road, little more than a vegetation-free band of dirt heading into the nearby woods. I turn to Rad, the nearest of the men. "You took this road to get here, right?"

The squire nods, dark eyes watching me nervously. Is he afraid of me? "It'll go to this... I don't know what the place was called, some farm village. From there we can take another to Dorter."

"Why, Agrias?" wonders Gafgarion from behind me. "Do you suppose this knight will be trotting along the road ahead of us?"

I turn my head to scowl at him; he knows better. "What do _you_ think?"

"I think he'll be taking the woods," shrugs the mercenary, glancing about at the surrounding trees. "No chance of him stumbling across a Hokuten patrol that way. In fact, I don't see why he won't just avoid roads and cities the whole way. You won't find him in Dorter."

"I know we won't find him there," I answer acidly, slowing so I don't have to twist half-around to talk to him. I choose to walk on his left side; he is right-handed. "But he'll be going _through_ Dorter at some point, unless he's carrying a week's worth of supplies on that chocobo in addition to himself and Ovelia." I raise my eyebrows, daring the man to say that this is plausible, but he just waits for me to continue. "Since he's going off-road, we may be able to beat him there if we hurry." I know we almost certainly won't, but every minute we save is more precious than gil.

Gafgarion doesn't answer me. Instead, he's studying the trees lining the road as though expecting to find hidden attackers, and I realize he is ignoring me.

Trying to smooth another scowl, I quicken my stride and take point again. Of all the resourceful knights in the area, I wonder, why did the Hokuten have to send me this guy? Were they going out of their way to find someone I wouldn't like?

My ears inform me that the dark knight has fallen back, covering the rear along with Rad, though perhaps he's doing it just to be as far away from me as possible. I don't like having him behind my back, but it's better than letting him lead. The arrangement leaves Ramza walking with my subordinates in the middle.

For a time we travel in silence. Trees float past, reaching verdant arms over the road as though to shelter it from the afternoon sunlight. The occasional boulder pokes through the undergrowth in places, an island of stone among the sea of tiny leaves, and at one point the road curves to parallel the placid bay before veering off again. The calls of hidden birds echo in the still environment.

Eventually I hear Ramza clear his throat. "Lavian?"

"I'm Alicia," corrects my knight with a giggle.

"Oh." He pauses, probably embarassed. "Where are you from?"

"Lesalia," she answers idly. "The city, I mean. My family's not noble, but we've been knights for generations."

"Oh," he repeats. "What about you... Lavian?"

"I'm from Bervenia," answers the other woman evenly. "My parents were merchants."

Again silence reigns, broken only by six sets of boots on dirt, as well as the distant animal calls all around. Finally, though, I hear Alicia speak again. "Where are you from, Ramza?"

"I... Gallione," he replies, discomfort audible in his voice.

"What part of Gallione?"

"All over," he sighs. "A little of everywhere."

I shake my head silently at his non-answer. If he doesn't want to talk about his past or his family, he can just say so.

Time again passes without anyone speaking; I am setting a brisk pace along the road, and if people have spare breath enough for conversation, we're not going fast enough. Eventually, however, boots grind against dirt close behind me and I sense Ramza's approach.

"Uh, Agrias..." he begins, uncertain how to address me. "You're imperial, right? St. Konoe?"

"I am," I confirm.

"Where are you from?" he continues.

I spare him a sidelong glance, but he's just looking back at me, waiting patiently for me to answer. For some reason that irritates me. "I'm from the capital," I answer finally.

He nods. "You must be a noble," he reasons.

"I am." As much as it disgusts me, one cannot rise to command the bodyguard of a princess without being of noble stock. My family is not powerful or influential, but they do qualify. There are some in St. Konoe who resent that, probably thinking I'm not fit for the position, but I proved my merit in the War. Lavian and Alicia accept that, fortunately. They were there.

Ramza falls silent, apparently thinking. Of what, he does not say.

After a moment, I eye him again. "I thought you'd be Hokuten," I venture, "but you must not be." Are they so undermanned these days that they must send mercenaries instead?

"I... am not Hokuten," he confirms uneasily. "I'm just a mercenary."

He's lying somehow, I know, or at least not telling me everything, but that is his right. "And yet you're a noble," I remark, to see his reaction. His accent, his entire manner, screams nobility.

The sellsword's face goes cold, and I wonder if I've gone too far. Quickly, though, his features soften back to their normal wide-eyed openness. I begin to wonder if that is an act, a mask he dons. If so, he's good at it.

When he doesn't answer I nod to myself, accepting his silence as a response in the positive. A noble, then, but living as a mercenary and answering to Gafgarion, whom the Hokuten sent to me. I frown. Something doesn't add up; something's missing.

Abruptly I smile to myself, wondering why I'm thinking about one sellsword squire so much. Perhaps it's because he's not as transparent as the others, despite his apparent openness; Gafgarion and Rad, on the other hand, are fairly straightforwardly a dark knight and a hired arm, respectively. Ramza is... a mystery, for now. I will find out soon enough what's behind his big hazel eyes; I need to. A bodyguard who protects nobility must watch unusual people, must read them. Though I don't believe Ramza is an assassin, I've been wrong before.

Birds continue to chirp, and he is still walking beside me. I wonder if he thinks the conversation is still going.

His eyes dart to the side, perhaps to catch one of the singing birds. "Have you ever been betrayed?" he asks.

Betrayal? Hmm. If he was a noble on the wrong side of some political fallout, that could explain things. Vaguely I wonder if Ramza is even his real name. "Not personally," I answer, "but the War was a mess. Have you?"

Again coldness passes over his face, this time mixed with helpless pain. "People can do such terrible things," he answers after a moment. I am unsure whether he refers to himself or others.

Shaking his head sadly, Ramza slows and falls back to accompany the other knights. I feel my face wrinkle in bewilderment. First with his origins, and now with betrayal; why does he bring up topics he know will hurt him when the questions are turned back on him? Does he simply not think about it? Or perhaps he asks things he himself wants to answer with some calculated reaction when he gets the chance.

He's dangerous, I decide. Crafty. Either that or he's a total dunce, which seems unlikely if he's been fighting with Gafgarion.

We continue to travel until past dusk. On a good day, we could have reached Dorter before dark, but we didn't leave today until after noon. We will be doing well to reach the trade city tomorrow morning, I figure.

Soon even muted twilight fades to darkness, leaving only ghostly moonlight filtering through the leafy canopy above. I ignore the darkness and keep marching.

"Captain," calls Lavian behind me some time later. "It's... dark out."

"I see," I acknowledge without turning around.

"Shouldn't we stop and camp?"

"Eventually," I admit. "Our friend cannot travel at night with a tired chocobo; this is our chance to make up some ground."

Lavian says nothing, but I can hear Alicia grumbling something. No one else says a word, not even Gafgarion, for which I'm thankful. Perhaps, for once, he finds no fault with what we're doing. Or perhaps it's just that he's more comfortable in darkness.

Some two hours later I call a halt and we move off the road some fifty paces, just enough to make a quick camp. Apart from myself, Gafgarion is the only one betraying no signs of fatigue. I find that humorous, considering that he and I are the oldest present.

"We'll sleep fast and rise early," I announce, simultaneously kicking aside some underbrush to clear a bed for myself. "I'll take first watch. Then Alicia, then Lavian." The other women nod, apparently at ease; I'm thankful for their composure, as roughing it is not something they've done often before.

"No fire," grunts Gafgarion as he sees Rad fumbling through the darkness for fallen branches. "There's no time." The younger man shrugs and starts unbuckling his armor.

I hide a small smile as I gaze off at the moonlit road. Gafgarion, I know, will see to his own men, and I will see to my women. There is enough professional respect between us to leave the other alone in that respect, but that's probably about as far as it goes.

"Ramza," continues the veteran, "you're first watch, then me, and Rad last." It seems he is, indeed, most comfortable in the heart of the night.

Shortly the others are lying in their beds of fallen leaves and needles, using cloaks as blankets, shields as pillows. Luxury enough for any soldier, I reflect. I am looking forward to my own bed, such as it will be, but I doubt I'll be able to sleep and I have other duties for now anyway.

Lavian begins snoring softly behind me. I find a fallen log and sit on it, rummaging through my belt pouches until I find a strip of salted meat. The field fare tastes and feels like leather, but I don't care. It's just fuel for the body.

Some time later leaves whisper behind me and I turn my head, listening to Ramza's approach. A shadowy man-shape, he steps to some five paces away, then hovers there. "May I sit with you?"

"Be my guest," I reply, gesturing to my right. Ramza, I hope you don't want to talk.

The boy -- young man? I wonder how old he is -- sits down a good pace away from me, then plants his chin in his hands and stares into the distance. He says nothing.

I conceal a sigh of relief. If I want to know things about him, I'll ask, but there's no need to be chatty. I'm terrible at small talk, for one thing, and I also don't want to wake the other behind me, or alternately have our voices attract attention in the woods.

In silence I finish my rations, then follow it with a moderate pull from my waterskin. From time to time I glance behind me, but no beasts or intruders have materialized. I trust my ears, but I'm no woodswoman, and caution keeps people alive.

Some time later, perhaps a half hour, I nod a question at my companion. "How do you know this man, this... Delita?" I keep my voice low, controlled.

Ramza stiffens. "I... grew up with him. He was like a brother to me."

Oh? Interesting. "And now he is with the Nanten," I observe quietly. "Why?" I am assuming Delita is from Gallione as well, making the Nanten a somewhat unintuitive career choice for him.

"I don't know," whispers Ramza bitterly. "I thought he was dead, and I didn't see him for a year. I don't know what he's thinking now."

His words and his posture strike me as honest enough, but he is a strange enough man that I will still assume he is acting, at least until proven otherwise. I don't want to lead an assassin straight to the woman I've sworn to protect. "Why did you think he was dead?"

Ramza turns his face away from me. "There was... an explosion. A fire, I mean. He was there with his sister, and she was... I thought he died."

An explosion? A year ago, he says. That tickles my memory, something I heard a while back about the Hokuten fighting the Death Corps. "Fort Zeakden?" I guess wildly.

He says nothing. I again interpret this as a yes.

So. He was there for that battle, or shortly afterwards. The rumors I heard were confused, as most witnesses to the explosion were distant or killed. Either Ramza was with the Hokuten or the Death Corps then, I reason. Or he's totally lying. The pieces have begun to click together, but again he could be leading me on, a professional flim-flam artist plying his trade. If he is an agent, then Gafgarion's presence makes a sort of sense; I will focus on him as the biggest threat and ignore sweet little Ramza who'll slit my charge's throat.

"What happened there?" I press, trying to take the edge off my voice. He doesn't deserve my rudeness if he's legitimate, and if he's not, my gentle tone will make him think I believe he is.

"They..." His voice is warped with pain. "I... don't want to talk about it," he decides hollowly. "That's all in the past. I ran away, and it doesn't matter now."

"But it does matter," I note. "Delita is not dead. He's not only alive; he's got Princess Ovelia in his possession." Wait... they were like brothers? Could they still be working together? I wonder about that. It seems implausible -- if Delita was an assassin with Ramza, for one thing, he'd just have killed Ovelia at the monastery -- but perhaps killing is not their goal. It could be some elaborate plain to gain her -- our -- trust when Ramza "heroically" battles off Delita to save her.

It's farfetched, I'll admit, but I can't discount it.

Ramza sighs heavily, and his shoulders slump. "I saw Delita's sister killed by the Hokuten. Right in front of his eyes. I... think he snapped, then. My brother... I don't want to talk about it."

I frown in thought. It does not escape me that he referred to the Hokuten in third person, as though he was not among them. Was he in the Death Corps, then? If so, and he's here now, he'd be a very dangerous individual. Then again, why would he tell me this if he was? I'm torn; his statements weigh against him as much as for him.

"You were in the Fifty Year War?" he asks. One toe pokes the soil and moss before him.

I nod. "I only saw the last few years, but I was there." Again I glance behind us, but there is nothing but trees and snoring.

"What was it like?"

With another frown I ponder that question. "I... started fighting in Zeltennia, trying to expel Prince Lanard's armies, but there were too few of us. With the heavy taxes, and Ordalia razing farms, there was barely enough food for us, let alone everyone else." I pause for a moment, remembering. "When I accompanied the Queen's guard to sign the treaty, my commander, Lord Valisar, suggested that we should be more worried about the Queen's own subjects than her enemies. There were riots, terrible riots, but fortunately I did not have to bear steel against my own countrymen."

I stop abruptly, snapping my mouth shut. Why am I telling him this much? As I scowl, the answer occurs to me: no one has ever asked before.

You are a sly one, Ramza.

He says nothing, continuing to push the dirt around with his boot. I wonder if I've said too much.

After a time I sigh, making an effort to straighten my posture. "Keep your eyes open," I remind him. "You're on watch."

I see his head jerk up, and his body suggests careful alertness. Sloppy, Ramza. Sloppy. You should have been like that the whole time.

The rest of our watch passes without conversation. Eventually I stand and toe Alicia. She wakes instantly, blinks about for a time, then rolls out from under her cloak. On the other side of the "camp," Ramza pokes Gafgarion with a stick, apparently wisely, as the other man wakes with a violent defense. Something snaps, and part of the stick hisses into the woods.

I shake my head and start removing my armor. Ramza does likewise and finishes first, having less than I do. He seeks his blankets and falls still.

As I am working on the straps of my breastplate, Gafgarion saunters over. "No middle watch for you?" he asks quietly, his tone disappointed. "There is good killing in the dark."

I give him a cold look he probably can't see. "I prefer the daylight." When I die, I want to be able to see the sun.

The dark knight chuckles richly and wanders off, towards the camp's perimeter. Alicia buckles her sword belt on, watching him silently.

When I am done, I hold my scabbarded blade in my left hand, keeping my right on the hilt, and gaze at Ramza's still form. Ovelia's safety is paramount, I remind myself. Assassins must not get near her. If he is one and I fail, I will be unable to face the royal family, not to mention potentially executed. But if I kill him in his sleep and he is innocent -- perhaps even if he is guilty -- I will be unable to face God.

Sighing, I release the sword hilt and lay the weapon next to my makeshift bed. You can live another night, Ramza Ruglia.

* * *

Lavian wakes me up at dawn. Hunger gnaws at my belly but I ignore it, as I have done so often in the past. Instead I push away fatigue and don my armor and weapons. I've done this so many times my hands move without thinking. 

On short sleep, no one is in the mood for chatting, so we begin traveling again in mere moments. I take point again, letting the others sort themselves out behind me. Rad hangs back with his commander once more, I note, and my knights bunch together, leaving Ramza alone.

I have long legs, and I let them eat up the dirt road in a steady rhythm. When I tire -- and I do; everyone does -- I imagine Ovelia and Delita are around the next bend, over the next hill. What is he doing to her? Is he hurting her? She's completely helpless against a trained knight like him.

My concern sharpens my will. I walk as though Ivalice itself depends on me, and in a way it actually might. I'd run if I thought the others could keep up.

Perhaps an hour into the day we encounter the village Rad spoke of, little more than a collection of shacks and houses around an intersection of roads. A handful of villagers are about, some waving at us or trying to speak, but I respond only with curt nods. We take the east road out of the town and in moments the packed dirt is our only companion again.

I hate walking. I hate walking when our prey is ahead of us and on choco.

Sometime around midmorning, the city of Dorter looms before us, a sprawling collection of buildings hugging the coast. Wispy columns of smoke rise from here and there in the city, the breath of a prosperous place.

My legs burn as we enter the city's periphery, but the discomfort seems small enough compared to the importance of our task. The number of people and animals in the street grows as houses and shops pass, many of the structures built into the sides of hills. Strange scents fill the air, odd spices from cooking food as well as the usual combined odor of dirty humans and chocobos. We draw more than a few eyes from passersby -- Gafgarion is known here, for one thing, and imperial knights are probably an unusual sight -- but no one attempts to stop us.

Abruptly a gleam of golden armor catches my eye from somewhere up ahead, and the hilt of my sword becomes a solid thing in my grasp. My heart pounds in my chest for the split moment it takes to realize that the greying knight in question is not Delita. Damn. Not that I really expected to find him here anyway, I suppose.

I suffer a second surprise, however, when the man ahead glances down at the rest of us. "Ha," he laughs abruptly, though levity does not touch his face. "Speak of the devil. There they are. Get them!" The man turns and strides off into the street crowd.

The assassin he'd been speaking to suddenly gapes in astonishment. "That's Gafgarion!" he exclaims. "Damn! 700 was too cheap!" After throwing his hat to the ground in frustration, he puts fingers to his mouth and whistles.

I sigh as more attackers appear out of the surrounding crowd, which itself begins to disperse as people decide they are needed elsewhere. This is just going to slow us down.

"Ambush?" yawns Gafgarion, appraising the men and women up the hill from us. "Going all out, huh?"

I turn to give him a scowl. "If you don't like it, you can leave!"

He gives me a dark grin. "I usually don't do freebies, but I'll make an exception!"

"You patronizing..." I trail off in disgust, partly because the attackers are advancing, and partly because I don't want Gafgarion angry at me while we are fighting someone else.

The dark knight laughs in scorn and excitement, drawing his blade as he races up the hill. I follow, preparing a protect spell; those archers up there are not an insignificant threat.

As Gafgarion lets loose a Night Sword attack, Ramza startles me with a sudden yell; I watch as he runs right past me, charging straight up the hill, and cuts down a casting wizard with a single strike. Arrows soon start to fall; I finish casting and my spell takes effect, surrounding myself and Lavian with an ethereal barrier.

The battle quickly becomes an explosion of noise and chaos. I ignore everyone but the quick-moving thief in front of me; my companions can take care of themselves. A magical explosion rumbles somewhere nearby, leaving me untouched.

The thief darts forward, feinting under the reach of my sword, and I let him. As I prepare a counterattack, however, something punches into my shoulder, spinning me half-about; the back half of an arrow is now protruding from my flesh.

My enemy attacks in earnest during the moment of distraction, but I catch his knife against my shield, and as he is recovering I sink my sword halfway into his side. With a strangled gasp, the fellow backs away, attempting to hide behind one of his companions long enough to drink a potion or two.

I'm not having any of that. "Life is short! Bury! Steady Sword!" Chunks of crystal air piece themselves together as my attack takes shape; two death cries reach my ears, but I am already turning away to survey the rest of the fight.

To my surprise, it is over. None of my companions are on the ground, though Gafgarion's armor sports several charred spots and Ramza has a pair of arrows sticking out of him. Lavian seems to be limping, but not too badly.

"There's no time to waste," I grunt, snapping off the arrow in my shoulder and letting Alicia pull the head through. Pain lances through my chest, but it's temporary. "We must hurry and rescue the Princess!"

Gafgarion eyes me. "Where are we going? Do you know where they went?"

"There is only one place they could've escaped to," I note. I've been thinking about this; a single Nanten knight holding the Princess against her will would be out of his mind to head anywhere but back to Zeltennia, or at least to Bethla Garrison. Either way, his next stop is the same. "Impregnable fortress... Bethla Garrison."

Ramza twitches in startlement. "Bethla Garrison," he echoes, worriedly.

I meet his gaze and nod. I know what he's thinking; it's quite likely we'll die there. On the other hand, there's a chance we'll live, a chance that we can get Princess Ovelia to safety. Ivalice depends on our courage, and more importantly, our speed.

Calmly I start rooting through a belt pouch, then produce a potion and uncork it. "Heal up," I command. "We won't get there just standing here."


	2. Chapter 2: All The World's A Stage

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy Tactics or any of the characters therein. I am using them without permission and will cease to do so if asked. Please don't sue.

* * *

Chapter Two: All The World's A Stage 

I push the party hard again as we travel today. There is sporadic conversation behind me as Alicia and Ramza make breathless small talk before falling silent again. Lavian joins as well from time to time, but she's been carrying more of our supplies and is probably more tired.

We are able to follow a road, fortunately. The War left many scars across the land, and many a great army marched along our current route. In these parts, most of those armies were probably called Hokuten.

Night falls without seeing a slow of our march across the sparsely-wooded plains. Once more I push us to travel in the darkness for a few hours before finally calling a halt at the edge of Araguay Woods. It will be dark enough within the trees even in sunlight, I reason; traveling in there at night would be impractical.

As the party is unlimbering backpacks and such, I call out the watch order, the same as last night. Gafgarion does the same; I suppress a sigh at the thought that I'll be sharing mine with Ramza again. I don't know why Gafgarion orders it the way he does; perhaps Rad is a morning person. Whatever.

Tonight there are no convenient logs, so I find a low flat rock and sit cross-legged on it, my back to the campsite. After stretching my back -- walking so long in armor can make it cramp -- I dig through my pouches, producing more salted beef and one of several apples Lavian found earlier today. As stillness falls behind me, I begin eating, trying to keep myself quiet.

Before long Ramza approaches, again standing a few paces away and watching my moonlit face with some trepidation. "Can I sit with you, Agrias?"

I nod, swallowing a mouthful of apple and grimacing, since I hadn't chewed it enough. "Face the camp, though," I suggest. "That way our backs aren't facing the same direction."

"Oh," he murmurs, nodding as he seats himself on the hard ground. "That's a good idea."

I shake my head slightly. How can you be a mercenary, Ramza? You should know these things already.

He allows me to eat in peace, and in a few moments I throw my apple core lazily towards the Woods ahead. The salted beef hasn't gotten any better after another day in my belt pouch, but it'll do. A few swallows of water wash the taste away somewhat.

Eventually the young man next to me sighs heavily. "Do you have a family?"

I raise an eyebrow in his direction. "Everyone has a family."

"No, I mean..." He sighs again. "Do you have... a husband? Children?"

I shake my head. "I am wed to the sword."

"How about brothers and sisters?" He gazes off to the west as though the conversation is occupying only part of his attention.

"One brother," I admit. "He trained for the priesthood. I haven't seen him in seven years."

Ramza falls silent; a quick glance shows that he is frowning. He does not answer.

"What about you, Ramza?" I prompt. For some reason I am interested in how he will answer.

"Two brothers," he replies quietly. "One sister. My brothers are... well, one is a knight and the other is devoted to statecraft. They are... I don't know what to think of them, really. I want to think they're... not my enemies, but I just don't know."

My eyebrows climb of their own accord. His brothers might be his _enemies?_ What kind of family is that? He must be of a higher class of nobility than I am, to have such problems.

"My sister isn't like them, though," he continues after a moment. "She's been training in a monastery. I miss her greatly," he adds quietly, as though not intending for me to hear.

I frown at his words. Ramza appears to have great... great _feeling_ for everyone he knows, whether it is fear or love or pain. When compared with him I seem distant, even to myself, as though I've drifted through life. I respect those in my family, and I love Princess Ovelia like a younger sister, a sentiment she seems to return when we are not in public, but that's about it. Should I be more like him, or should he be more like me? Am I missing something in my life, or does he have too much in his?

He shifts, turning slightly to face me. "What are your parents like?"

Is this an interrogation? Do I care? It's... nice to talk about things, sometimes, I admit, even if it is to a sellsword. "My mother is a magistrate for the imperial court," I reply softly. "A mediator. We don't really see eye to eye." She's a fine woman, really, and would have been proud of me if I'd followed in her footsteps, but that's about the only way. "My father was a Holy Knight, like me. He died in the last years of the War. I think I tried to be like him."

Ramza gives a thoughtful nod, reaching to pull a few stalks of grass from the ground. "My father was a knight, too. People say I take after him, when he was a young man. I don't really know my mother."

"Why?" I inquire. "Is she... reclusive?"

His fingers pull another clod of grass, more forcefully than the first. "I mean I don't know who she is," he clarifies coldly.

"Oh. I'm sorry." So, he's illegitimate. That could explain some things, why he's uncertain of his brothers, why he grew up with Delita, who, unless I miss my guess, is a commoner. Certainly Ramza's situation is not a unique one in Ivalice.

I'm still uncertain if this man is an assassin. If so, he's a peculiar one. Then again, a target like Ovelia would be a mark above the ordinary, requiring extraordinary effort.

"What does that make me?" he wonders aloud, his voice a rough stab of frustration. "There are no... no scripts for people like me, no roles, nothing that says, 'Here, this is what you're meant to do.'"

"So?" I shrug. "Life isn't a play, Ramza. There was a script for me, but I didn't read it." I tap my shield significantly. "I don't think this was in it. You just have to write your own."

"That's the problem," he grunts. "I don't know how to do that. I'm... lost."

I frown for a moment. "Even if there was a role for you, would you play it?"

Ramza chuckles. "I don't know. My brothers wanted... Probably not, I guess."

Silence falls between us. Above, a few wispy clouds drift across the face of the moon, turning into silver smears on the starry black sky. If God is an artist, I reflect, he is one of talent.

Eventually, however, the sheer unusual quality of my companion draws my attention once more. "Why do you talk like this, Ramza?" I ask quietly. "You barely know me, and yet you talk about such big things."

He stares at the ground, and I find myself unable to determine if he is angry or not. "I don't know," he says again. "I just... want to know people, I suppose. I always hope someone can help me find..." He trails off, shaking his head helpelssly.

"Truth?" I prompt.

"Truth," he agrees reluctantly; I can tell he's not satisfied with that answer. "Maybe... justice."

I don't know what to say to that, so I say nothing. A mercenary, seeking justice? Then again, he hasn't been one forever; he doesn't seem to have Gafgarion's cold heart in his chest.

On the other hand, what do I know? I'm Ovelia's bodyguard. I can't assume anything.

Ramza falls silent as well, and the rest of our watch passes without word or incident. Finally I rise and start taking off my armor, pausing long enough to wake Alicia. Gafgarion seems to have no barbs for me tonight, and so I sleep.

* * *

Lavian wakes me what seems like mere moments later. Fighting a groan, I roll out from under my cloak and slap dried grass from my garments. Still blinking sleep away, I begin the ritual that defines my mornings more than prayer; I don my armor. As I do so, my eyes are drawn to the dark trees to the east; the Araguay Woods are a haven of monster life, supposedly containing some creatures not seen anywhere else, perhaps some undiscovered altogether. What awaits us in its sylvan fold? And, more importantly, what awaits Delita and Ovelia? While I'm confident of our ability to fight off most of the fauna within, a single knight with a prisoner would make for a different situation. 

I smile faintly. A bitter joke it would be, if we catch Delita only to find Ovelia dead from a Morbol attack. God is not without his little jokes.

We waste little time preparing to travel, and quickly set out for the Woods. In moments we follow the road into a shadowy nation, one with citizens of oak and pine. The forest is silent, so silent that only myself and Gafgarion appear to be at ease. Rad twitches at every twig that snaps underfoot.

Perhaps an hour after the day begins we pause at a stream to fill our waterskins, then continue. One bright point about traveling in so dark a place is that the lack of underbrush; the trees choke off enough light to keep our movement easy and rapid.

Later, distant sounds catch my attention. I cock my head and listen; it sounds like low grunts and some kind of animal noise. Goblins, perhaps? They are common enough in this place to lend it an eponymous nickname.

A moment later I turn back to find Alicia nodding at me. They hear it too, then. I loosen my blade in its scabbard, hearing the gesture repeated fivefold behind me.

Quickly we round a bend in the makeshift road and shuffle to a confused halt. There, ahead of us, stand a half-dozen goblins closing in on a lone chocobo. Their manner is not friendly, neither to the bird nor to us, whom they quickly notice.

"A chocobo?" I wonder aloud. "In this forest?"

Gafgarion barks a condescending laugh. "Must be pretty stupid, to wander into Goblin's Forest!"

Ramza steps thoughtfully forward. "Delita said wild chocobos are stronger than tame ones," he recalls, hazel eyes regarding the feathered beast ahead. "I wonder if he's strong in a fight?"

His commander turns a scornful gaze on him. "You want to help him, Ramza? No money in that!"

"He may help us save the Princess," I add, mostly to needle Gafgarion. At the least, it definitely wouldn't kill us to have a pack animal to carry some of the potions.

As I draw my sword, I can't help but wonder at Ramza. Gafgarion is supposed to be the bloodthirsty one among the three, but it was the young noble who drew us into this fight. For one who seems so open, he is certainly hard to figure.

The dark knight reacts first, charging forward to inflict one of his signature attacks on the hapless goblins. The rest of us follow a half-step behind, watching as the lone choco takes refuge behind a thick oak.

The fight is brutal and quick. I think the only one of us to take a wound was Ramza, who ran right into a goblin punch. Apart from what's going to be a black eye soon, though, he seems fine.

As I bend to clean my sword on the filthy tunic of one of the goblins, the chocobo warks at us. It steps a short distance out of its hiding place.

"You seem alright," remarks Ramza, touching his face gingerly.

"You're lucky," adds Gafgarion, never one to miss highlighting a threat. "You ought to thank Ramza."

Slowly the party advances towards the chocobo, hands held out unthreateningly. I find myself wondering if this is Delita's mount. A single choco would have difficulty carrying two riders for two days even when not in a hurry, so since we started traveling I've been half-expecting to find a slain bird along the side of the road.

"Don't chocobos usually travel in packs?" wonders Alicia as we near the beast.

"The others might have been killed somewhere else nearby," shrugs Lavian.

I eye the knights, deciding to speak my own theory. "Could it be..."

"This is Wiegraf's choco," exclaims Ramza in quiet surprise as he reaches the thing, examining the saddle and harness. "I remember." The bird stands stiffly, uncomfortable so close to a strange person. "Boco."

I blink. "Wiegraf Folles? Leader of the Death Corps?"

Ramza nods absently, stroking the soft feathers near the animal's beak. "I fought them," he explains. "There, now. You're not afraid of me, are you?" He directs this last at the chocobo, who appears to be relaxing somewhat.

A short distance away I stand uncertainly, considering the young man anew. If he is speaking the truth, he is someone to take seriously on the battlefield. Very seriously. Someone like Wiegraf would not exactly be a pushover.

"I'm surprised the bird is still alive," snorts Gafgarion. "You must have fought him a while back, right? At least a year?"

"Something like that," agrees Ramza. The choco is now rubbing its face against his open hand, and he smiles.

I shake my head briskly. "Let's go. I want to be on the other side of the woods by nightfall."

Lavian and Alicia quickly fit some spare packs to Boco, and in moments we're moving again. The forest is still as silent as before, but somehow having the chocobo around lightens the mood somewhat, or at least my mood. His occasional inane warks jar me out of my dark reverie.

"Ramza," pipes Alicia as we are walking, "how did you come to fight Wiegraf?"

"I was fighting the Death Corps for the Hokuten," answers the strange young man. "Trying to help Delita find his sister, whom they'd kidnapped."

"His sister?" repeats Alicia, surprised. "Why did they do that?"

Ramza sighs angrily. "They thought she was a Beoulve."

I frown at this. Rumor had named Balbanes Beoulve's daughter Alma as a girl killed in the explosion at Fort Zeakden, but now it seems to have been some other girl.

"Why did they think that?" wonders Alicia.

Ramza takes his time before answering; I can sense that he is choosing his words carefully. "She studied at a monastery with other daughters of noble families. I think she was friends with Alma Beoulve. That's what Delita used to say, at least."

I bet you know more than that, Ramza. Who are you, anyway?

The terrain soon grows more rocky, and the trees begin to give way to the occasional mossy clearing. By dusk the trees have all but disappeared; we've left the Woods. In their place are rocky hills rising and falling like waves frozen in stone.

As the land darkens further and stars appear above, we continue hiking. I really don't know how many nights I want to go on short sleep; it's going to catch up with us sooner or later, and I don't think anyone wants to be groggy when we finally catch Delita. With a tight sigh, I call a halt a mere hour past nightfall. We won't do Ovelia any good if we're killed when we find her.

By this time it does not surprise me when Gafgarion calls out Ramza to be the first watch. Making a wry face, I choose a seat on a rock overlooking the next valley, a shadowy brush-studded fold in the world's rocky fabric. I'm vaguely surprised at how far I can see from the hilltop; the view is probably quite beautiful in the daytime.

This time Ramza does not ask as he settles down near me, facing back towards the campsite. I wonder if I'm shifting in his mind, from the one in nominal command of his superior to something less formal, like a friend. I also wonder why he wants to talk to me; is there something about me, or would he be that chatty with, say, Alicia?

What's the topic tonight, Ramza? Go ahead, ask me something.

"You're from Lesalia," he recalls some time into our shared watch. "What's it like, there?"

"It's... busy," I decide, thinking back. "It's a huge place. It's also very political." At his confused look, I elaborate. "You can't walk down a street there without someone taking note of it and passing the information on to someone else. If you're even slightly important, everything you say is scrutinized, both by the Queen and her rivals. Everyone's looking to identify their enemies, so sometimes people just... disappear. I... I hate it there."

As the words leave my mouth, I blink. What I said was true, but I've never even realized it before now. How is it that I didn't know? Is that why I so seldom see my family?

"I'm sorry to hear that," murmurs Ramza in apparent regret. "What would you do if you ever had to go back there?"

"Then I would go," I shrug. "My duty is more important than my feelings."

"I know what you mean," he mutters. "I just... I hate it when duty and feelings conflict."

I brush a lock of golden hair away from where it hangs down my cheek, the better to see him. "That's how you came to be a mercenary, wasn't it?"

He jerks back and stares at me, a haunted expression creeping over his features. He's realizing he's said too much, now; I can see it in his face. "Wha... what do you mean?"

I shake my head, acutely aware of the weight of the sword on my hip. "Nothing. You don't have to answer," I assure him. The last thing I need is for him to panic and do something rash.

Ramza nods suspiciously. After a moment he relaxes slightly, leaning over to retrieve a pebble so he can toss it down the slope. Shadows obscure his features. Eventually, though, he sighs. "They... wanted me to fight my friends."

"So you chose your heart over your duty," I conclude. Despite my efforts, a note of disapproval enters my voice.

He grunts. "Wouldn't you?"

"I'm a knight," I point out unnecessarily. My words are clipped with anger I am trying to contain. "Duty is what defines us. Friends are all well and good, but you shouldn't gather too many. They can complicate your efforts to fulfill your duties."

Ramza glances sideways at me, a small smile on his lips. "You're more like Gafgarion than you like to admit."

Rage flashes through me like a blast of heat, and I must restrain myself against the desire to punch that smirking baby-face of his. He thinks he's being so clever, so damn _profound_ by comparing me to someone he knows I loathe, but he doesn't know a damn thing.

I control my breathing, using it as a handle on my temper, and I say nothing at first because there is a superficial truth in his words. When I know I can speak again without snapping his head off, I do so in a cool, measured tone. "It's just a mark of professionalism," I explain. "Keeping yourself aloof is a practical way of going about life in our line of work. It's very common. It helps you fulfill your duties with a minimum of fanfare."

My companion falls silent briefly, perhaps brooding. "If they asked you to do something... something terrible, like kill Princess Ovelia, would you do it?"

I snort. "They'd never ask me to do that. I'm a Holy Knight, not an assassin."

"I'm not either of those," replies Ramza, "but I used to feel the same way, and then they proved me wrong." He watches me for a time. "If you can't answer the question, that's the same as running away. Just like I did." His face is sorrowed in the instant I can see it before he turns away.

I want to stay angry at him, but Ovelia's face appears in my mind's eye, smiling at me. I can still see her playful, almost mischievous expression as she handed me a white daisy one day, one of many she'd picked on a walk through the monastery garden. I'd accepted it, but the girl badgered me to tuck it into my hair, then didn't stop talking until I did. She's a beautiful person, I realize. She'd never hurt a fly.

I, however, am not that beautiful. I stare down at my gloved hands, hands that have taken more lives than I've bothered to count. That's why they like me, I understand now. That's why they find me useful, why they've given me promotions and honors and greater responsibilities. Because I'm good at killing.

As I ponder Ramza's question, my heart twists at just contemplating it. Of course I'd never hurt her. Orders can be mistaken and superiors can err, but the heart's guidance in such matters is seldom wrong.

Eventually Ramza sighs. "I'm sorry, Agrias. I didn't mean to anger you." The sincere regret in his voice summons my anger again; I want him to gloat, to mock me, because then I'd be able to snap back. If he's an actor, he's a damn good one.

Chewing a lip, I draw knees to my chest and rest my chin on them. "No," I whisper. "I wouldn't."

Even without looking I can sense his smile, like warmth on the side of my face. I don't know if I should consider that weird.

* * *

The next day dawns all too early. I rise and don my armor, watching absently as Lavian feeds Boco some greens we scrounged the day before. In moments, as always, we are prepared and moving. 

Perhaps two hours after dawn, Rad speaks up. "Someone passed here," he declares excitedly.

I stop and turn around, watching everyone else do the same. "When?"

"Today, I think," answers the squire, squatting to examine the rocky ground. "See, there's a mud puddle back there, and then there's this repeating blotch that heads away from it. It's still damp."

Gafgarion stares over the young man's shoulder, grunting. "How many people?"

"I don't know, commander. One or maybe two. There's only one set of prints."

I meet the dark knight's eyes and nod. "Keep moving."

Up and down the chunky hills, I continue to push the group hard. Maybe Rad tracked Delita, or maybe a goblin, but it's my goal to find out which by midday. If Ovelia is anywhere nearby, she'll rest in the safety of our camp tonight.

As we travel, a faint noise begins to tickle my ears, growing louder with each passing step. It's a constant hiss, or perhaps a dull roar. A waterfall, I reason. There is supposed to be one nearby. "We're approaching the Zirekile," I call back to the party as we walk. Good. I'd like a chance to get some fresh water in the skins, and Boco could probably use a drink. If we weren't in the middle of a manhunt I might even stop to rinse some dirt off of myself.

"There's a bridge up to the left," announces Gafgarion loudly. "Up that path."

I nod and head off along the trail he indicated. Rocks crunch under six sets of boots, and one of claws, as we ascend a rocky slope better befitting goats than people. The roar of the waterfall is a constant misty hum here, not defeaning by any means but more than sufficient to shake my bones inside my armor; the water must be somewhere nearby, though we can't see it from here.

In moments I smile as a pool of frothy water comes into view, likely the receiving end of the waterfall. The expression fades instantly, however, when I see what else is present.

There are a knot of Hokuten knights scattered about, all facing Delita and Ovelia, who appear to be trapped in the center of a rickety rope bridge across the falls. Delita has his sword out and is glaring at a trio of White Lion men, his other hand gripping Ovelia's wrist. Some of the Hokuten are already dead or dying. My blade is in my hand before I even realize it, my shield at the ready.

"It's over!" shouts one of the knights, perhaps the commander, at Delita. "Surrender! Turn the Princess over to us and we'll spare your life!"

"That's a bald-faced lie!" counters Delita hotly. I can barely hear his voice over the sound of the Falls. "You want to kill her! Then after that you'll kill me for knowing the truth!"

The Hokuten commander scoffs. "Ridiculous! We came to help the Princess! Why would we want to kill her? We can't let Goltana keep her!"

I've had enough of this. "Princess Ovelia!"

The heiress jumps, twisting to face me, and her eyes grow wide. "Agrias!"

As she speaks, the Hokuten knight glances almost disdainfully down at our party. "Great, here comes a crowd! Gafgarion, kill them! And do it now!"

The dark knight twitches. "Don't know what's going on," he shrugs, "but it's in the contract!"

I turn my attention to him. "Gafgarion, are you betraying us?" I know it's unlikely I'll guilt him into staying his sword, but I must try.

"Betraying you?" he echoes scornfully. "Come on, this is business. Our job is to kidnap the Princess 'unharmed'. The job is to kill you all and keep things quiet!"

"What are you getting at?" I demand. "The kidnapping's a sham?"

"The Princess is in the way!" he explains grandly, drawing his blade. "The Princess should be next in line. If she's alive there'll be nothing but trouble!

On the bridge, Delita has been following our conversation without lowering his defenses. With his free hand he attempts to shield Ovelia. "Since you're going to die," he begins, his face a mask of calculation, "I'll let you help me. If the Princess is kidnapped and killed by Goltana, they'll be rid of her and his rivals. I'm sure that's how Prince Larg wrote the scenario. No, Dycedarg probably wrote it. Don't you agree, Ramza?"

I blink, frowning at the young nobleman. Why would he know anything about it? My suspicions resurface darkly.

Gafgarion steps forward, turning about almost eagerly. "Right, Ramza. Let's get them all!" Below, Rad clutches his sword nervously, eyes darting in every direction.

Ramza stares at the older man, seemingly lost in thought, but then his face becomes an agonized scowl. "Another helpless sacrifice," he murmurs. "No more! There must not be any more victims like Teta!"

As he begins charging up the hilly slope, I turn to reassure my charge on the bridge. "Princess Ovelia!" I call confidently, beginning to wade through the pool. My armor won't appreciate being submerged, but the other way is clogged with people, and metal can be repaired, unlike Ovelia. "We'll save you!"

"I don't think so!" Gafgarion's voice cuts coldly through the mist as weapons begin clashing.

"Are you sure of what you're doing?" I inquire suggestively, hoping to unnerve him. "The Princess may be adopted but she's still royalty."

"I'm quite sure!" answers the sellsword. "Even Princesses can die for getting in the way! That's what 'royal blood' is about!" He laughs at his dark pun.

"Are you mocking the Princess?" I counter before I can stop myself. Why wouldn't he, really? What's a little barb when he's already trying to kill her? For good measure, I direct a Static Sword to the Hokuten knights near him, and my attack thunders into the ground above.

"Get in the way, get killed," he replies, sounding almost bored. "It's the same for commoners! The only difference is people like you pledging blind loyalty! Unless you make it to the top you're only gonna be used, so you're better off dead!"

Like it's your place to make that choice for her, ass. "Then, I'll save her!"

"Delita!" Judging by his voice, Ramza is up near the bridge now. "You're alive!"

"Imagine meeting you here," laughs the Nanten knight. "Are your brothers still running your life?"

"Who knows?" asks Ramza rhetorically. "They never tell me anything! But, uh, Delita, are you party to their plot?" A man screams somewhere above; I don't recognize the voice.

"Don't be foolish," snaps Delita. "I'm here to save the Princess to free her from those who are exploiting her!" As he fights, I pause, sensing something familiar. He's a Holy Knight, too. I can feel him summoning the same power I call. Interesting. I'll keep that in mind when I kill him, later.

"Don't lie to me," bellows Gafgarion, apparently unable to keep his damn mouth shut for more than an instant. "You were hired too, weren't you? You were hired to kidnap her for money! Don't play dumb!"

"No, I'm not like you. It's not for the money!"

"Then, who's getting in my way?" wonders the dark knight. "A kid who heard the plan, and decided to save her for justice? Who hired you? Who told you about the plan? Talk!"

"None of your business!"

As I hop onto one of the rocks at the base of the falls, I turn around to survey the battle. Alicia is down back where we started, the back of her hair tangled with blood. Above her, a panicked Rad is trying desperately to keep Lavian's blade at bay. Ramza is up battling Gafgarion one-on-one, while the Hokuten knights near him seem content to be guarding their end of the bridge. Delita has charged the men on the other side, and at the moment only two of them are still alive.

Ovelia remains untouched, to my relief, still standing in the center of the bridge. "What are you?" she calls anxiously after Delita. "Ally or enemy?"

The golden-armored knight laughs again. "Human, just like you!"

I shake my head at his evasive answer, letting loose another remote attack against the knights near Ramza. One screams and falls, while the other stands stunned, his eyes gazing at something no one else can see.

"Did you know about this?" asks Ramza of his enemy as they battle. "Why such a dirty trick?" His voice is anguished at having been betrayed again.

"Dirty?" repeats Gafgarion incredulously. "There is no 'dirty' when it comes to money. I'm a mercenary. I have to finish the jobs I take. That's called being a pro!"

"Why didn't you tell me? Why?"

The dark knight laughs again, likely about to start another rant. "If I'd told you, would you have stopped me? If I don't do this, someone else will! Get it? People die all the time without you knowing about it! That's reality! You think you can stop something you know nothing about?"

"But... but does that make it right?"

"No 'buts!'" hollers Gafgarion. "You're just a child who doesn't want to face reality! If you don't like it, try living without depending on someone else for a change! But don't come complaining to me if you can't!"

The dark knight is pressing Ramza hard, I see, and Ovelia is still safe in the center of the bridge. I have a choice: let them kill the Princess now, or fight to help a man I suspect is her assassin. Really,  
it's no choice at all.

Sighing, I climb the rest of the way to the landing beside the bridge, then point my blade skyward behind Gafgarion. I have no problems at all stabbing him in the back. "Life is short... Bury! Steady Sword!" My sword slashes downward in his direction; the familiar power rushes through me and explodes into him.

Gafgarion gasps, falling to one knee. Without blinking, Ramza seizes the opportunity and sinks his blade into the other man's torso.

"Dammit!" The mercenary staggers to his feet, then runs off into the rocky surroundings.

Ramza makes as if to follow the man, but the remaining Hokuten knight on our side of the bridge chooses that moment to snap out of his reverie, then charges the young nobleman. At the same moment, Lavian rushes up from below and gives me a solemn nod. So. She finished Rad off and bandaged Alicia up.

Knowing she and Ramza can handle the last knight, I rush over the bridge, feeling it sway precariously under every step until I reach Ovelia. "Are you alright?" I ask quietly, examining her for injuries, but she seems not to have any.

The Princess gives me a weak smile. "I'm alive."

I nod. Beyond her, Delita has killed another knight and is battling the last one, though he is covered in wounds. Eyes narrowing, I slip carefully past the Princess and let another attack fly. This one shreds the last knight and narrowly misses Delita as he leaps back, startled. His dark eyes meet mine and we exchange a silent acknowledgement: we are enemies, but I have the Princess now, so the matter will be dropped for the sake of politeness in front of her. He knows he can do nothing against the rest of us.

Quickly Ramza and Lavian polish off the last Hokuten knight. I hover protectively near the Princess as Delita strolls over the bridge to meet us.

"Leave the Princess with me," he advises calmly. "It's better for her."

I thrust an arm out in front of Ovelia, pushing her behind me, blocking her with my body. Ramza eyes his old friend oddly. "Delita, what're you scheming?"

The Nanten knight spreads his hands in a reasonable fashion. "Scheming? Don't be foolish. I'm telling the truth. Think about it. Where would you take her after making an enemy of the Hokuten? Crack Hokuten troops will come here looking for you any time now. Just where the hell do you plan on escaping to?"

Ramza swallows visibly; clearly he has not thought of this. "W... well, I..."

"Think carefully," continues Delita as though the other man has not spoken. "The Princess knows this was Prince Larg's plan. The royal family is not on your side. So what about Goltana? No, he'd execute you just to clear himself."

I address him with a cold nod. "What would you do?"

"I'd do what you can't do."

Ramza shifts uncomfortably. "What do you mean?"

"I can't tell you." Delita turns his back to us. "I'll leave the Princess with you a little longer," he pretends to decide, then starts walking away.

"Delita," calls Ramza suddenly, "I'm glad I could see you again."

The Nanten knight pauses, then stares heavenward. "Teta saved me," he murmurs.

Ramza blinks. "What?"

"Teta saved me back then," repeats Delita cryptically. Ramza and I exchange confused glances.

As he begins to walk away again, Ovelia steps forward, hands clasped eagerly at her breast. "Thank you, Delita," she calls nervously but earnestly.

I eye her in surprise. This is new.

Delita does not bother to turn around. "See you again, Ramza," he calls, then strides away.

Once he is gone, I turn about to face the only remaining mercenary... though perhaps that is no longer the right word for him. "Ramza, thanks for your support. But are you sure you want to make the Hokuten an enemy?"

"Don't worry," he waves dismissively. "I've already decided. The question is, now what should we do? Like Delita said, nobody will help us..."

I glance at the Princess and find her watching our conversation silently, perhaps not knowing how to contribute. "We can ask Cardinal Draclau for help," I suggest. "Glabados church has jurisdiction over Lionel. They might be able to help."

Ramza frowns thoughtfully. "The Hokuten have to be careful what they do in Lionel," he nods. "Let's go. It's the only place for us."

"Agreed." I glance a question at Lavian. "How is Alicia?"

"Unconscious," answers the younger woman. "Before we knew what was happening, Rad hacked at the back of her head and she went down. I gave her phoenix down, so she still lives, but she'll be down for the rest of the day, probably."

Damn it. "Well, we have to move," I note, gesturing at the crystalizing corpses all around us. "We can put her on Boco and get another half-day of travel in." Another reason I want to move, which I don't mention, is that Delita and Gafgarion are both still somewhere nearby, and either or both could attempt to recapture or kill Ovelia while we are wounded and resting.

Ramza offers a weak smile, then heads down the slope with Lavian to tend to the fallen Alicia. I turn to the Ovelia and bow my head. "I failed you, Princess."

She smiles, taking my hands in hers. "You can't do everything, Agrias. You found me again, and now I'm safe. That's all that matters."

I frown, once again surprised at the depth of kindness inside the girl. Part of me understands that, because of that, she's going to have a difficult time if she ever takes the throne. With luck I can be there with her. "I do not deserve your forgiveness," I insist.

"Oh, hush," she scolds. "Let's go see if the others need assistance, shall we?"

Exhaling heavily, I nod and accompany her down the blood-slick slope. Her expression crumples miserably once she realizes what she's walking across, but she says nothing. "Are you in agreement with going to Lionel, Highness?"

Ovelia shrugs and nods once. "A man of the church should be a safe choice. I trust your judgement, Agrias."

I slump a little at her words, not from the burden she places on me, but because she knows so little of the world. She's so accustomed to people shipping her about that it doesn't even occur to her to form an opinion of her own on what she should do, where she should go. In some ways, she's like a child, a trusting child. "You flatter me, Highness."

She giggles, waving my formal response aside. "I know Alicia and Lavian, of course, but I've only been introduced to Ramza. Tell me, why did he side with you during this battle?"

I sigh. This is going to be a long day.


	3. Chapter 3: Stars And Sincerity

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy Tactics or any of the characters therein. I am using them without permission and will cease to do so if asked. Please don't sue.

* * *

Chapter Three: Stars and Sincerity 

With Princess Ovelia walking, and Boco carrying Alicia, we travel slowly for the rest of the day. The terrain south of Zirekile doesn't make things much easier; similar to the north of here, all I can see from horizon to horizon is rolling rocky hills dotted with clumps of trees here and there. I know it's only going to get worse the farther south we get. Then again, with each step we are also farther away from both the Hokuten and Nanten strongholds.

I shake my head mutely as we hike up another hill. With the Nanten trying to capture Ovelia and the Hokuten trying to kill her, our choices of destination are rather limited.

There is constant chatter behind me. Now that we are not hurrying so much, and especially with Princess Ovelia in place of Gafgarion, the other women seem to have replaced physical effort with speech. It took the healed Alicia a mere hour to wake, and though I insisted she stay on Boco the rest of the day, she had no problems at all keeping up with the banter.

In a way, I almost feel bad for Ramza. I didn't even realize he was the only male present for some three hours after the battle at Zirekile; I typically don't think in those terms. It wasn't until Ovelia apologized to him for one of Alicia's more frank comments about womanhood that I turned back and ran a quick eye over the group, counting. Then I grunted at him in sympathy.

Poor fellow. He didn't say a word all afternoon.

As the sky grows to an imperial violet overhead, speckled with the brightest of the stars, I call a halt. We are standing atop a round hill, a rocky lump that is the highest all around. For a moment I stand at the center of the peak and glance about, smiling faintly; to the east, the rising moon is a fattened sliver of ghostly white against the purpling sky.

"We're making camp here?" asks Alicia, startled, as she slides to the ground from Boco's back. "It's still light out. Sort of."

"It's the best site for miles around," I point out, gesturing. No one will ever be able to sneak up on us in this place. "Also, people must camp here all the time. There's a firepit over there."

Alicia and Lavian both grin. "Does that mean we can have a fire tonight?" asks Lavian hopefully.

"I don't see why not," I shrug. Likely there's a fire here as many nights as not, and no one knows Ovelia is coming this way anyway.

The women continue to grin, save for Ovelia, who doesn't seem to understand what's so important about a fire. Ramza volunteers to wander off in search of burnable scrub nearby, while Lavian feeds Boco more scrounged greens from earlier today.

"I've never really been in a camp," remarks Ovelia, glancing about in curiosity. "What's it like?"

"You're about to find out, Highness," I chuckle. "It's nothing special, just a fire and beds of stone."

She frowns, then appears to reach some inner conclusion and smiles happily. "Oh. Lovely!"

I share her smile momentarily, then seat myself near one edge of our site. My sword leaves its scabbard with a faint hiss and I lay it across my knees, pausing as I search my person for a whetstone. I've not had time to tend to it properly over the recent days, and one of the first lessons in my knight training was to care for my equipment. You can be as skilled as you want in swordplay, but if your breastplate falls off because of a rotting strap, you're probably going to die regardless.

Eventually Ramza returns with an armful of dried sticks, and I half-wonder if he didn't just rip a dying shrub out of the ground. Either way, it'll burn, and it quickly does as he squats near the firepit with flint and steel.

While everyone else is busy with some task or other, I catch Ovelia's eye. "Highness?"

She gazes at me for a time, then smiles. "You can call me Ovelia, Agrias."

It's not the first time she's said so, but it makes me somewhat uncomfortable. I don't want to be too familiar or abrupt with Ivalice's royal line. "As you say. When Delita was holding you captive, what happened? Did he... hurt you?"

The princess frowns momentarily until my meaning sinks in. She spares a glance at the others about the campsite, then startles me by gathering her pale silk skirts and sitting in the dirt next to me, legs folded decently at her side. "He didn't hurt me, Agrias," she answers in a low voice. Warm brown eyes hold my own as though to demonstrate her sincerity.

I incline my head in relief. "What happened, exactly?" The whetstone continues to slide across the edge of my blade as I speak.

Her brow furrows delicately. "Really, very little. He seemed to use monosyllabic conversation whenever possible. 'Eat. Sleep. Move.'" Ovelia pauses, her expression going distant. "On the other hand, he was very careful to make certain I stayed healthy. There was little enough food, but he gave most of it to me. I think he stayed up half of each night making sure we weren't attacked. Before the chocobo broke a leg, he made me ride it while he walked." She pauses again, then meets my gaze with a lazy shrug. A dreamy half-smile plays across her lips.

Oh, damn. That's not good. "Highness," I begin, wondering where to start, "I know men who behave that way with prized cuars or hounds. You're only useful to him alive and in good condition. You know that, don't you? You shouldn't read anything into it."

"Oh, I know," she agrees.

"Good. He's dangerous, you know. Very dangerous. If you ever see him again -- and I should hope you don't -- you should keep that in mind."

Ovelia smiles at me. "Okay, Agrias." Her smile is open, her voice humble, and I don't believe a word of it.

I sigh. "Just... be careful, if you would. Just because a man acts a certain way, doesn't necessarily say anything about what's inside him." Poor Ovelia; all the exposure she's ever had to the male gender is to kindly old men like Simon. She has no idea.

She doesn't answer, and after a moment I nod past her. "Ramza has the fire going," I note. "Would you like to sit by it?"

The Princess nods thoughtfully. I scabbard my blade quickly and stand, offering a hand to help her to her feet, which she accepts. Together we walk the twenty paces to where the former mercenary is sitting by himself.

As we approach, though, Ramza scrambles to his feet and offers a bow to Ovelia. "Your Highness," he greets respectfully. His tone is surprisingly... sincere. Whoever drilled him on manners did a good job of it.

"Oh, please sit," instructs Ovelia softly, taking her own advice to sit as she was before, skirts tucked modestly under her legs. "I don't address you two as 'my lord' and 'my lady,' do I?"

Ramza straightens and begins to shift his feet. "I'm... not really a lord, Your Highness," he explains, clearly flustered. "I'm just a..."

Ovelia smiles, and after a moment he relaxes; she can do that, sometimes. "You're a man who can make a good fire," she answers for him. "Please, sit, Ramza."

The young man gives her a grin of thanks, then folds himself up on the ground across from us. Sparks pop and flames dance on the brambles in the firepit between us, and warmth slowly seeps into me like... like nothing else, really. There is nothing quite like a fire.

Shortly Alicia and Lavian finish their tasks and join us, sprawling comfortably about the circle of stones. "Oh, this is nice," groans Alicia. "All I'm missing is a bath, and this would be perfect."

Lavian turns a cooly inquisitive glance on the other woman. "Do you often bathe out-of-doors, then?"

Alicia snickers. "Well, no. You know what I mean."

Assorted chuckles sound from around the fire. For a moment the only sound is the crackling of the fire.

"How many stars are there, do you suppose?" wonders Lavian idly, craning her neck to stare skyward. "There must be hundreds."

"Thousands, I would think," I answer thoughtfully. "It depends on where you are, how much light there is around."

Ovelia shifts. "Simon once told me there are some stars so faint no one can see them."

"What's the point, then?" frowns Alicia. "How does he know they're there?"

"I don't know," admits Ovelia simply. "But he is a very learned man."

I allow myself a small smile. I still don't know what it is about sitting around a campfire that weakens barriers; normally Alicia would never question Ovelia like that, at least not in the daytime. Well, possibly she would, but Lavian definitely would not.

Not all barriers are affected, though. Ramza still has not spoken.

Ovelia seems to be thinking the same thing, judging by the way she shoots him a thoughtful gaze. "What about you, Ramza? You don't say much. What do you think?"

He twitches. "I... about what, Highness?"

"About the stars."

The young man frowns at the princess for a time, then turns his gaze skyward. "I... don't know," he sighs. "When I was young, I used to think they were fireflies trapped in black amber. Later, I thought they were like... pinhole windows to heaven, and whenever they were brighter, it meant God was happy. Now I think they are so mysterious and pretty because they are meant to act as a... a mirror to the soul. You see in them whatever is in yourself."

I frown, surprised at the poetic depth to his answer. Clearly he's given some thought to this.

"Huh," muses Alicia. "Then what does it mean that I just think they're pretty?"

I conceal a sigh. Is she trying to _flirt_ with him?

Ramza stammers, apparently trying to think of an answer, but Lavian saves him. "Don't tease him, Alicia," she scolds mildly.

Ovelia toes my thigh. "What do you think, Agrias? You haven't said much either."

I take a moment to frame my response. "I think the Diamond Band jags across the sky that way to remind us that it is heaven that is straight, and the world that is crooked."

Silence follows my words. I don't think this is because what I've said is so profound, but rather that no one really knows what to say in response. The fire continues to crackle as each of us sits lost in our own thoughts.

Eventually I twist to crack my back. "We ought to start taking watches," I suggest. "Same order as before, but we'll spread them out over more time so everyone gets more sleep."

Heads nod around the fire, all except for Ramza's. He blinks uncertainly instead. "I can take a watch," he offers.

I meet his gaze hesitantly across the fire. How to explain that I don't want you to be the only one awake? That I still don't trust you with Ovelia? "I'm... not your commander," I answer eventually. "I don't feel comfortable assigning you duties." It's a lame answer, I know, but it'll have to do.

Ramza smiles reassuringly. "I don't mind. I can just volunteer for it, if that makes you feel better."

He's trying to spare my feelings? I shake my head slightly and climb to my feet. "Let's go," I beckon with a jerk of my head, away from the fire. "I need to talk to you."

The Gallionian fellow blinks back at me for a moment, then stands as well. Three pairs of eyes watch us silently as we stroll a short distance away to the east. Here, away from the fire, the moon has painted the rocks a monochromatic silver where the light touches them, leaving the rest in blackness.

"What is it, Agrias?" he asks as we near an edge, almost a bluff, falling some ten paces to more jagged rocks.

I turn to face him directly. "You didn't have to come with us, you know," I remind him quietly. "It wasn't your responsibility. I appreciate the help you've been so far, but... I want to know why you continue with us."

Ramza's hazel eyes meet mine uncertainly; perhaps he senses my serious mood. "I... originally? I wanted to see Delita, to... to see what he's doing now, and why, but I don't think he's going to give me any answers. Now, I fought Gafgarion and... and Rad is dead, so I don't have anyone to fight with, even if I wanted to go back, which I don't, and I want to make sure Ovelia stays safe."

I take a moment contemplating his rambling answer, then nod. "What are your intentions towards her, exactly?"

He frowns, surprised. "I just said," he answers slowly. "Three knights doesn't seem like enough to keep her safe on the way to Lionel. Not that a fourth blade will help much, but I want to do what I can."

I rub a hand over my face, suddenly tired of all my suspicions, all the second-guessing. I'm imperial security, I tell myself; I should be able to read people fairly well, or at least determine if they're hostile, but Ramza presents a mystery. What throws me is how damn _open_ he seems. It has to be an act. But he could simply be a very expressive individual, too.

Eventually I face him again with a plan in mind. It's a very basic plan, admittedly, but I'm not unskilled in hearing lies, especially if I'm expecting one. "Are you planning to assassinate Ovelia, or to manipulate her in any way? This isn't all part of some elaborate plan to gain her trust, is it?"

Ramza gapes at me, bewilderment and injury written on his face. "_Assassinate_ her?" he repeats breathlessly. "Are you serious? After I...?" He pauses, drawing a deep breath, and points a shaking hand northward. "The Hokuten just tried to kill me _again_, and you think I might be plotting with them still?"

I feel my brow furrowing. "Just tell me: yes or no."

"No," he answers clearly. "I have no designs on Princess Ovelia, no plan to kill her or use her. Are you happy?"

Long moments pass as we stare eye-to-eye. I'm measuring him, studying him, trying to read what's behind those big eyes of his, but for all I can tell he is completely genuine. His body isn't even tense, as an assassin's would be on fearing detection. He's just... angry.

Suddenly I feel like an ass. "I'm sorry, Ramza," I mutter, shaking my head. "Yes, I'm satisfied. I just had to know."

"I understand," he soothes, apparently regaining what composure he ever has. "I would... do the same, I suppose."

I smile apologetically. Hell, as I think about it, if he'd wanted to kill her, he could have done so already, and if he had any plans to manipulate my charge at all, I'd be right there to see it. I don't know why I was so worried. "Which watch do you want, then?"

He blinks, then returns my smile. "Whichever," he shrugs. "I... I enjoy sharing a watch with you, but I suppose everyone would get more sleep if I took a fourth."

"With me?" I repeat, confused. "Why?"

Ramza shifts his feet; his entire posture radiates unease. "I like talking to you," he admits sheepishly. "You're... you're serious. You're not heartless like Gafgarion or simple like Rad."

I nod. Fair enough. Truth be told, his company is a moderate improvement over Alicia and Lavian's alone. "Let's get back to the fire," I suggest, "before the others start to gossip. You can have the morning watch."

He nods, accompanying me back to where the three young women are still sitting around the burning sticks. "Ramza will be taking the fourth watch," I declare on arrival.

The other knights nod, apparently having expected no less. "Let's all get some sleep," I continue. "We'll need it, walking through these hills."

* * *

When we begin travelling the next day, I put Princess Ovelia on Boco. If anyone attacks us, at least she can escape quickly on the chocobo while the rest of us fight and, if need be, die. 

By midafternoon, we crest yet another hill and find ourselves staring across a valley at Zaland Fort City. It is a massive place with thick walls, sitting adjacent Fort Lionel itself. I spend a moment surveying it, realizing that, after Lionel Castle itself, there's no place in Lionel that's harder to get into than Zaland. Or to get out of, I note. We need to spend as little time as possible there, I decide. It's not that I don't trust the forces of Lionel, but until Ovelia's safety is guaranteed I don't want anyone around her who doesn't have to be.

For a moment I gaze at my charge, wondering if we ought to cloak her. With her hair and dress all dirty, she doesn't particularly look like a princess at the moment, and in any case a heavy cloak in these southern lands would just draw unneeded attention. Most people who see her, I hope, will just assume she's a fellow traveller, possibly a priestess.

The guards at the city's outer walls let us pass without incident; likely my shield helped with that. I exchange respectful nods with the red-cloaked knights at the gate as we pass.

A bare space follows between the outer and inner walls. The killing field, as they call it here, stretches some two hundred paces, each of which can likely be covered by a dozen archers in wartime, though today none sit on the walls at all.

Our party crowds together as we approach the inner gate, an archway sitting open and unguarded, now that it's peacetime. The Cardinal must be confident in the city's security.

Before we enter, however, voices reach us, floating over the crenellated wall and through the archway. "...about your father?" shouts a man. "Just give us the 'holy stone' and we'll return him! Okay guys, get him!"

I blink, glancing at Ovelia in surprise, but before I can speak, a slim young man in odd gold-and-blue garments leaps atop the wall from the inside, then turns to face the original speaker. "And you can tell Rudvich," he shouts back, "if he lays a hand on father he'll never see the stone!"

"An argument?" I wonder. "Someone's after that young man."

Ramza steps forward, scowling. "He'll be killed if we don't do something! Let's help!" Then, before I can react, he's off and running up the slope to the archway.

Cursing under my breath, I glance about and realize there's no one but us in the killing fields. The Princess should be safe for a few moments. "See to her safety," I instruct Alicia curtly, then follow Ramza up, preparing a protect spell as I go. Lavian surprises me by running along the wall to where a rise in the ground brings a crenellation within leaping range, then jumps and begins to pull herself up.

As I pass through the archway, my spell goes off, warding myself and Ramza against the weapons of our unknown enemies. I quickly step within the city, then curse again. I see a pair of knights, some archers, and two wizards. Two. Damn.

Ramza runs screaming at the nearest knight and slashes him badly across the face. I follow, sprinting towards one of the wizards and unleashing a brutal Crush Punch against him; the attack flashes into effect and the robed man crumples without a sound.

Arrows quickly start to seek me, clanging off my shield and shoulder plates. Gritting my teeth, I deflect a savage swing from the second knight, letting my shield arm absorb the impact, then back off far enough to injure him with a quick Stasis Sword.

Something cracks loudly on the wall behind me, and before my eyes the second knight tumbles to the ground, his sword clattering carelessly aside. I frown at this unexpected turn of events, but have little time to ponder it as a bolt of lightning strikes from the cloudless sky.

Searing pain blinds me momentarily. When I can see again, I push myself off the ground, coughing, and find that Lavian has hacked down the offending wizard. Shaking my head to clear it, I run towards a house, on which an archer sits, and summon another Stasis Sword.

In moments, it's over. A quick glance shows that Ramza, Lavian and myself are all covered in blood, but the young man atop the wall has only a single injury, an arrow protruding from his left calf.

"Alicia!" I call over the wall. "Hurry in! It's clear!" We need to be gone from here before Lionel troops arrive.

"We need to hide somewhere," observes the young man, echoing my thoughts as he hops easily from the wall. "That house looks empty," he continues, nodding at the structure whose roof now supports a crystallized archer.

As I nod, Alicia trots into the city with Ovelia beside her on the choco. Limping, we make it to the building in question and slip inside. Shouts are just starting to sound in the street outside as we close the door.

I eye the strange young man suspiciously as a shaking Ovelia throws herself into a chair, but the fellow appears to have no idea who just saved him. All the better. Quickly I hand Lavian a pair of potions and set her and Alicia to guarding Ovelia, then hunt out Ramza. He's disappeared into the house somewhere, likely to check it for hidden occupants, or possibly other exits.

I find him in the next room, pulling drapes shut. "That was reckless," I accuse him quietly.

The straw-haired young man jumps, then whirls to face me. "Agrias, he would have been killed if we hadn't helped."

"I know," I agree, handing him another pair of potions, "but you didn't have to charge right in. He was on the wall already; we could have let him jump out with us, then killed his attackers one by one as they ran through the doorway. If we needed to."

"Oh," he blinks. "Oh yeah."

I shake my head, pausing to drink a couple of potions myself. The bubbling liquid tastes sour, as always, but its warmth washes through me like a tangible thing, turning charred flesh pale again, making whole what was broken.

"I'm sorry, Agrias," he admits sadly. "I... I don't always think, when someone needs help."

"I've noticed," I remark dryly. "Just... in the future, be aware that you may have other options besides running ahead and screaming."

Ramza flushes in embarassment but simply nods. It's strange that he's survived this long, I reflect, given his impetuousness. He's either lucky or skilled. Possibly both.

Footsteps on the wooden floor behind me announce the arrival of the nameless young man from the fight. "Thank you for helping me," he offers pleasantly.

I turn to nod at him. "What's your name?" The injury in his leg has disappeared, I notice; one of the other women must have helped.

"I'm Mustadio Bunanza," he answers. "I'm from Goug Machine City."

Ramza cocks his head in question. "Who were those men after you?"

"They were troublemakers hired by Bart Company," explains Mustadio. A grimace crosses his face as he speaks the name.

"Bart Company?" I repeat, confused. "The importer?"

He gives me a sharp look. "You know them? They're not just traders. They're a criminal syndicate into everything from smuggling and slavery."

Ramza frowns at the young man. "Why were they after you?"

Mustadio pauses as though considering his response. "Do you know why they call us mechanics?"

Ramza pauses, glancing at me, then shakes his head. I obligingly answer in his place. "I hear a 'lost civilization' is hidden under Goug," I recall. "When St. Ajora was alive, airships were in the sky, and human robots in town. But time passed, technology was lost, and no one knows if it ever really existed."

"But the civilization must have existed," reasons Mustadio intently. "Parts from many airships and machines are buried under Goug. Mechanics are the ones who restore the 'past legacies.'"

Ramza gestures at the other man's waist. "That weird thing you used in the battle, was that one of the machines?"

"Oh, this?" Mustadio draws a curious weapon from his waist. It looks vaguely like a crossbow, from what I can see, in that it has a handle and a trigger, but that is where the similarity ends. "This is called a 'gun.' A metal 'bullet' is propelled by gunpowder. This is the most simple one. They say you used to be able put magic in it and shoot it."

Ah, yes. I nod. I've heard of guns before; Romanda, I am told, used them for a time during the War.

"Hmm," muses Ramza. I glance at him, but he says nothing more.

Rolling my eyes, I return my attention to Mustadio. "Why's Bart Company after you?"

The mechanic eyes me. "You said you were going to see the Cardinal," he notes, and I blink. One of the women must have told him. "He was a hero of the Fifty Year War. People in Lionel still think of him as a hero. My father, too. The Cardinal is the only one who can unite this country. I know he'd grant your wish. Then the princess would be safe."

I compress my lips in irritation, both at his way of avoiding our questions, and at the fact that he knows who Ovelia is. "Yeah. And?"

"Can you take me with you?" he presses. "I want to meet the Cardinal."

I scowl. "Why?"

"To save my father!" he answers pleadingly. "The Cardinal's the only one who can rescue him from Bart! But he wouldn't want to meet some mechanic like myself. So, please. Take me with you!"

You want to use us, then, Mustadio. Just say it. "You still haven't told us why they're after you."

The mechanic hesitates, lowering his gaze to the floor. "I can't tell you now."

"Then we can't take you," I decide.

"I beg you!" he continues desperately. "Trust me! I must see the Cardinal!"

Before I can answer, Princess Ovelia strolls into the room, apparently at ease now, after the battle. I know how she hates the shedding of blood. Ramza and I kneel appropriately. "All right," she nods. "You can come with us."

"Really?" he exclaims happily. "Thank you, Highness!"

I turn my head to frown at him. "Remember! You're in the presence of a princess."

The young man turns pale, then backs up several paces and drops to one knee. Ovelia watches him sadly. "It's all right," she sighs. "Please stand up."

The three of us rise to our feet. I turn to regard him carefully. "All right, then. I trust you." Trust you enough to believe you won't hurt Ovelia, mechanic. I sense that he is not malicious, just... secretive.

Great. Another Ramza.

After that's settled, I return to the other room and dispatch the knights to find us an obscure way out of the city. I know we'll have to go through the south gate, but there are many ways to get there, not all of them desirable.

In the meantime, I seat myself on the floor and lean against a wall, relaxing while the opportunity presents itself. Ovelia makes conversation with Mustadio, asking general questions about Goug and smiling at the answers. Ramza expresses interest in the mechanic's gun, but Mustadio refuses to let him touch it. I smile at that.

Perhaps an hour later, the knights return, having found a suitable path through the city. We depart quickly and without fanfare, winding only through alleys and back streets, never main avenues. In moments we reach the south gate, where the guards let us through with a friendly wave.

We travel the rest of the day at a brisk pace. While I'm reasonably confident the Hokuten and Nanten won't find us so quickly, adding Bart Company to the list of people trying to kill us doesn't make me feel any more at ease. Idly I wonder how many more enemies we can accumulate.

Later in the day, the road brings us past the crumbling ruins of some abandoned structure, possibly a small fort or large house. It'll be more defensible than an open hill, so I call a halt to the day's travel.

While Ramza tends to Boco and the knights see to our equipment, I see Ovelia begin to wander aimlessly through the place, a strange look on her face. Wordlessly I fall in by her side, keeping a wary eye out, though I already know there are no assassins lurking in the structure's odd corners.

Shortly we find our way to a garden of sorts at the rear of the building. Ovelia shuffles a few paces from the door and stops, staring off towards the distant horizon.

I follow her gaze briefly, then glance at her. "Princess Ovelia, see?" I ask, nodding southward. "Lionel Castle is over the mountain." I know Bariaus Hill -- an understated moniker if ever there was one -- will be the most physically demanding portion of our journey, but I'm hoping it will be safe; Lionel patrols pass through the region regularly.

"It's still far from this fort," sighes the heiress absently. "I wonder if Cardinal Draclau will really help us?"

I frown at this, thinking for a moment before I voice my thoughts. "I hear the Cardinal is very loyal to the royal family, and right now he's neutral in the dispute between Prince Larg and Prince Goltana. I'm sure he wouldn't defeat justice by turning you over to either one of them." Doing so would be professional suicide -- and possibly _literal_ suicide -- on the Cardinal's part; neither Larg nor Goltana would hesitate to have a holy man killed if they thought he was aiding the other.

"I hope so," sighs Ovelia. After a moment she advances to a nearby tree, a young sapling that likely wasn't here when the fort was used, and plucks a leaf from it.

"Besides," I add, "he is a man of popularity at Glabados Church. They'll accept you if the Cardinal asks them." I can't help but wonder what has her so worried.

"I wish I weren't a princess," murmurs my charge. The leaf falls from her uncaring fingers.

I hesitate at this, uncertain how to comfort her, or even whether I should try at all. I've seen her upset before, but never so deeply. After a moment I open my mouth to explain that she can tell me whatever's troubling her so, but then I pause; quiet footsteps are approaching from within the fort. Someone's trying to eavesdrop on us. Instead, I settle on a concerned sigh, hoping to protect her privacy discreetly. "Princess Ovelia..."

Her lips curve in a sad smile. "I was always surrounded by the convent walls, and have only seen the sky through them. I don't think you know, but I was at another monastery before I went to Orbonne. Even after hearing about the adoption by the deceased king, I stayed there for a long time." She pauses, then chuckles without humor. "No, I'm not complaining about that. Just... people are dying because I'm the princess. It's so painful."

"Please don't blame yourself," I advise quietly. "It's not your fault. Those who are trying to take advantage of you are the ones to blame."

The girl plucks another leaf from the tree and lets it fall. "I met a girl at Orbonne," she recalls distantly. "She said she had also been living in the monastery since birth. We used to laugh at how similar our lives have been." She gives that bitter chuckle again. "Isn't it funny?" Another leaf finds its way to the grass.

I watch her in concern, wondering if she's going to strip the whole tree while simultaneously thinking back to what I'd read about her before the assignment. "She was the daughter of the Beoulves, Alma, wasn't she?"

"She is my only friend," confirms Ovelia quietly. "I wonder if Cardinal Draclau would use me?"

I twitch at the change in subject, uncertain what to say. Instead I simply watch her, fearful that she might try something to... to hurt herself.

Mustadio's distant voice cuts through the silence. "Ramza! Where are you? Shall we go?"

Go where? I don't think the mechanic understands that we've stopped for the night. It's early enough that he could be forgiven for thinking this is just to rest and eat. I turn towards the door to meet him.

"What have you been doing here?" he continues, stepping into view and frowning at the doorway. Not at me, though.

I hide a scowl as I stride inside past the hovering form of Ramza. So, it was him. We will have words later, young noble. "How was it?" I ask of Mustadio.

"Fine," he shrugs. "It doesn't seem like the Hokuten have been here yet."

I frown for a moment, considering telling him that it was Bart Company I was worried about, but I say nothing. Instead I just nod.

A sour buzz catches my attention from outside. I turn to find that Ovelia is trying to play something -- a leaf? a blade of grass? -- like a musical instrument, and she is failing. "My friend taught me before," she complains, "but I can't seem to do it right."

Ramza slips outside without a word and strides over to pull a green leaf from the tree. "This is how you do it," he instructs, showing her the thing in his hand before he plays, producing a high, shrill note.

"Like this?" she asks, making another attempt. This time she manages to produce an actual note, a sound not unlike what Ramza made. "There!" she exclaims proudly. "I did it."

I watch them for a moment, thinking. Alma taught Ovelia to do that, she says, and now Ramza is teaching her the same thing. A suspicion forms in my mind, but after a moment I sigh and push it aside for now. He would only deny it if I asked him, anyway.

As the two continue playing happily on their reeds, I turn to the mechanic still standing beside me. "Thank you, Mustadio."

He glances back at me and offers a friendly nod before departing. If his boots make any noise on the stone floor, I can't hear it over the two aspiring musicians outside.

Soon Ovelia giggles and lets her reed fall. Ramza does likewise, and for a moment the two just stand there, grinning at each other. After a moment, however, they start strolling back to the fort.

"I haven't done that in years," sighs Ovelia. "Thank you."

Ramza nods. "It's nothing."

They quickly reach the fort and Princess Ovelia jumps in startlement at seeing me, though Ramza clearly remembered I was there. The heiress gives me a smile and slips past.

As Ramza attempts to follow, I catch his arm. Ovelia pauses, glancing back at us, but I shake my head faintly. With another smile she disappears into the building.

Once she's gone, I release Ramza and frown at him. "Why were you eavesdropping on us?" The way I am studying him, humorlessly and out of the tops of my eyes, suddenly reminds me of how my mother used to stare at me when I'd been naughty as a child. That wasn't very often, but in retrospect I could be a brat when I was mad.

The man has the grace to look embarassed, at least. Cheeks red, he stares at the ground. "I was... looking for Princess Ovelia," he answers. "I didn't know you were with her. When I saw you both, it looked like you were talking about something important and... I didn't know what to do, so... I didn't do anything. I just stood there."

My frown deepens; he's almost certainly not telling me everything, but I don't hear any actual untruth in his voice. "Why did you want to see Ovelia?"

He meets my eyes only for a moment before looking away. "I had a question for her."

I raise an eyebrow. "What kind of question?"

"A _private_ question," he answers firmly, staring at me now. "Is that okay?" His voice rises slightly, and it occurs to me that he probably thinks I'm a nag.

"I don't see why not," I shrug. Then I give him a smile. "You cheered her up, at least, something I wasn't able to do. Thank you."

He blinks, then relaxes into a relieved smile. "I was glad to help."

Without further conversation we wander back into the fort, navigating its odd narrow turns smoothly. Whenever we reach a doorway or some other narrow space, Ramza pauses to let me pass first. I wonder again at his grooming; he seems very polite, but then again, he was eavesdropping. Perhaps he's only polite when someone is watching him?

Once again I shake my head, wondering why I'm devoting so much thought to Ramza Ruglia... or whoever he is. By rights, I should be more worried about Mustadio at the moment; Ramza might be an enemy of the Hokuten... as the rest of us are now, I suppose... but Mustadio appears to be a priority target for Bart Company, and Lionel is definitely Bart territory. The young mechanic is doubtless more dangerous to us, to Ovelia, at the moment than anyone else I can think of.

I wish she wasn't so trusting. I suppose it's part of why I care for her, but... it's unsettling.

Ramza and I soon reach the rest of the party in what looks to have once been the fort's great hall, a rectangular space some twenty paces by forty. Whatever tables and chairs used to be here are long gone, probably stolen, so we spread our things out on the rubble-strewn floor and make ourselves at home. Though the ceiling has crumbled away for the most part, the matching large chunks of rock are conspicuous in their absence below; I suppose other people camping here have pushed them out of the way somewhere.

"Same watch order as last night," I declare once everyone is present. "Mustadio, you don't have to worry about taking one. We'll start after we've eaten."

The mechanic shrugs and nods. His easygoing manner is in sharp contrast with Ramza, who seems to go through life expecting to be killed or betrayed at any moment.

Alicia and Lavian, bless their hearts, thought ahead enough while in Lionel to buy extra food, so in addition to the usual field rations and scrounged berries, we are able to eat carrots, yellow cheese and honey-bread. Alicia bought cider as well, and though I seldom drink except in ceremonies, the cider has almost no alcohol in it and it tastes a sight better than leathery water.

Ramza, I note as we eat, does not touch the cider. He's so tightly-wound. If even I can notice that about him, it must be glaringly obvious to everyone else.

Soon I've finished eating. While I wouldn't mind hanging back to chat with the others, or more likely watch them converse, that won't keep us any safer. Instead, I find my way outside, into the orange twilight sunshine, and idly begin climbing the crumbling walls of the abandoned fort. While some parts are clearly unsafe, the stone cracking or worse, the portions above the walls look secure enough, and I want to be able to see whomever might approach our borrowed sanctuary.

I soon reach a point some five paces off the ground, plenty high for my purpose. Seating myself on the stone, I plant my chin on my fists and stare southward for a time, though I can see in every direction from here.

Gradually the sun disappears behind the hills to my right, leaving the world in ghostly twilight, that ethereal afterglow I know will fade like summer fog in the coming hour or less. The first stars of evening assume their places on the celestial stage above me.

As I gaze upward, something begins to feel... different inside me. What is it? For some reason I can't tell.

Laughter bubbles up faintly from the rest of the party inside, and an answer strikes me: it is loneliness. I have no real friends, no one I can really confide in without fear of betrayal, and largely that's not a problem; I don't need anyone, didn't feel the lack before now, and in any case my duties keep me far too busy to socialize.

So what's different now? I think for a moment, and cannot answer.

Is it the others? They have become friends, for the most part, even Ovelia with the knights; the barriers between them should be much more formidable than between myself and anyone else here, and yet the Princess seems to welcome attention and affection from people who treat her as an esteemed peer. When they do it to me, however, it just makes me uncomfortable.

No, I reflect. They acted like friends before the kidnapping. This isn't new to me.

Even Mustadio seems to be getting along well enough, despite the short time he's been with us and his... occasional lack of discretion or tact. He's a friendly fellow and the women seem to like him well enough. In fact, everyone but Ramza seems to be...

My line of thought ends there in a jagged scribble. Ramza.

This is the first night I haven't chatted with him in some capacity. It is this lack I feel.

I smile faintly at the distant hills with the realization. He is like me, I understand. A loner. Yet, paradoxically, it is his conversation I miss, not that of the others.

I frown. Will this interfere with my duties? I've never had a friend before, not a real one.

Who am I kidding? The time I spend chatting with him is time I would otherwise just spend sitting alone.

How odd, then. It's been... how many days? Four? Five? They've begun to blur together since we left the monastery. Anyway, I hold a few conversations with him, on only a few days, and now I already feel their lack. I'm like a beggar who's been given a blanket, and then had it ripped away.

After a moment I smile up at the stars. Ramza, you bastard. You've made a hole in me somewhere. I'll have to keep you around to make sure it doesn't fall empty again.

* * *

The next day dawns brightly over our stolen shelter. I wake as everyone else is just beginning to stir, then rise and start donning my armor. After the War, I don't feel like myself without it. The weight of the sword on my hip soon complements my metal skin. 

It takes us little time to get ready. No one needs to bathe -- well, no one _can_ bathe, here -- and it seems that Mustadio travels lightly, so in a fraction of an hour we are leaving the fort, on our feet once again.

As usual, I walk at the head of our little column, followed by the knights and then Ovelia. I've set Lavian to taking care of Boco; she has a soft spot for animals of every kind. Mustadio trails the Princess, and with Gafgarion gone, Ramza guards our collective back. At least this way, I reflect, if he's going to charge screaming into another battle he has to go past me first.

Despite the ceaseless ups-and-downs of the hilly terrain, the journey is not an unpleasant one, perhaps owing to the ease with which we're travelling. We should be relatively safe here, and there's no particular reason to drive ourselves into the ground hurrying to Lionel castle. Besides, if we arrive in Lionel with the Princess worn and exhausted, Cardinal Draclau will likely have some choice words for me, and I don't want to have to snap at a man of his standing.

Sometime around midday, as we are ascending yet another hill, a handful of figures appear at its top, striding down to meet us. I recognize them as mercenaries at once, and more importantly, they recognize us. I grip my sword hilt as our party shuffles to a halt behind me.

"I don't know who you are," calls one of the mercenaries, perhaps the leader, "but leave the boy with us! We don't want to fight! Hand Mustadio over and there won't be any trouble, okay?"

"Why don't you leave quietly!" I counter angrily. God, am I tired of people trying to kidnap members of our party. "Tell Rudvich we'll fight anyone who tries to use war to sway the people!" At least I assume that is his motivation.

"Then I guess we must take him by force!" replies the man unnecessarily. "Here goes!" he adds to his companions as they step forward.

This is going to be rough, I realize, they have us outnumbered, with knights and archers, not to mention two bloody summoners in the wings. "Go!" I snap to the people with me.

Bootsteps crunch against rock as they rush up to meet the attackers. I dart to Ovelia's side, making certain she is well-situated in Boco's saddle. The girl gazes down at me in helpless horror as the battle is joined above. "You're set," I decide, meeting her gaze grimly. "There's no one around but them and us. If things go badly, you should be able to make it to Lionel. Fall in with a patrol, if you must."

Ovelia's face crumples in worry. "Agrias..."

I am already turning away, blade drawn, shield at the ready. Pausing for a moment, I squint up at the sun; this may be the last time I see it. Then I charge, feeling the urge to scream like Ramza is doing up ahead.

As I pass Mustadio, the boy is taking aim with his gun at one of the summoners. He fires and the woman screams, clutching an arm. Good. If she's occupied she might not be able to wield her arts against the rest of us.

With her out of the picture for now, that leaves two knights, two archers and the other summoner against Lavian, Alicia and Ramza. And myself as well, once I get up there. Damn Rudvich.

As soon as I'm close enough, I unleash a Stasis Sword on two of the mercenaries, injuring one knight and stunning an archer, as the residual magic of my attack binds him in time. Lavian wastes no time slitting the latter fellow's throat; she's a knight, but practicality is sovereign on the battlefield.

Alicia races down to face the second summoner, leaving three of us facing three Bart mercenaries above. Unfortunately, both the enemy knights have been hacking at Ramza, and their efforts are visible in the form of blood soaking his garments. A quick Split Punch turns one of those men into a corpse, but the other gets a solid swing in against Ramza and fells him.

Something begins to smolder inside me as I see my companion fall. It's true, he courts death as other men might court a lady, but he could be my friend. I'm not going to let these fools deny me that. The smoldering continues to grow until it flares into white-hot flame, and I realize absently that I am growling, almost yelling, teeth bared in a snarl.

While Lavian shoulder-checks the remaining archer off the ledge, I round on the knight still standing over Ramza. One savage swing strikes his shield squarely, but the sheer ferocity of my attack knocks the fellow onto his backside. The second swing nearly cuts his arm off, the the third splits his helmet and skull alike.

Breathing heavily, I glance around wildly, seeking another enemy, but I am the only one on top of the hill now. Chanting below catches my attention, however, so I run to the edge and invoke my power, willing a Stasis Sword to pierce the summoner since it's the only skill I have that can reach her way down there. The attack materializes, slicing through her but miraculously leaving her standing. Before I can curse, however, Mustadio's gun cracks again and the woman falls to the ground.

Thank God. I was Shivaed and Ramuhed enough in the War, thank you very much.

Another quick glance below shows me Lavian finishing off the second archer, and before I can move again I hear another female scream, a voice I don't recognize. That must be the second summoner. That's everyone, then.

I blink for a moment, then slump, my fury disappearing like a pricked bubble. Ovelia's safe. We're all safe, except for...

I turn and sink to my knees next to Ramza. Blood is matted in his pale hair now, and a dark pool of it has begun to seep into the rocky soil around him. My lips move without thinking, reciting a prayer I know backwards and forwards but seldom have the occasion to use.

At the last word, a faint glow appears overhead, slowly turning into a descending orb of pale white light. When it touches Ramza's body and disappears, his back arches, a silent scream on his face. Then he collapses, eyes fluttering open to blink at me.

He smiles. I smile back.

Without speaking I offer the young man a hand, helping him to his feet. The rest of the party begins congregating at the base of the hill and we join them.

Ramza nods a question at the mechanic as we approach. "Why are they after you?" he asks, his voice a harsh rasp after nearly crystallizing. "Will you explain?"

Mustadio hesitates, a look of anguish passing across his face, but he shakes his head. "Sorry," he sighs, "but I can't tell you now."

I bite my lips, swallowing bitter words, and turn away to make a show of checking the Princess for any injuries I know she hasn't gotten. I respect his privacy, or rather I respect that _Ovelia_ respects his privacy, but I would hope that he could open up at least a little bit to people who have saved his life twice.

"Let's go," I sigh after everyone has potioned themselves back to normalcy. We'll need to buy more of the curatives in Lionel Castle, I suppose.

After the Bariaus fight, I can feel our mood darken. The Lionel patrols hadn't been there to help us, and in fact Bart Company is certainly still a favored entity in Lionel. The last few battles have been close; I doubt I am the only one now wondering who among us won't reach Lionel Castle. What conversation there is during the rest of the day is short, and the laughter forced.

I call a halt atop another hill, this one not as tall as the one from last night, but still plenty elevated. From the peak of this one, staring southward, I want to think I can make out the towers of Lionel Castle in the hazy distance, but it could just as easily be wishful thinking. I've only been this far south once before, and from what I recall we should arrive there by midday tomorrow.

The party moves quickly setting up camp, not that there's much to do. Tonight it is Mustadio who gets the fire going, something he accomplishes quite quickly using some mechanic's device he calls a 'match.' For a time I watch him squatting next to the spreading flames, wondering if the exotic equipment he carries is freely available in a place like Goug, or if it's something confined to the possession of mechanics. If I ever make it there, I'll have to find out.

Soon twilight sets in, a little earlier and darker than the day before on account of the fluffy grey clouds that have moved in over the course of the afternoon. A breeze picks up, ruffling my cloak, and I suddenly wonder if it might rain. I wouldn't mind if it did.

This time, after eating, I rise and start my watch without even saying anything, striding to the southern edge of our campsite and staring off over the distant hillcrests. I need to be more alert tonight, I realize; with the clouds blocking the moon, it will be harder to spot any approaching enemies in the night's inky darkness.

From time to time I glance behind me, back at the rest of the party sitting around the fire as the world grows darker. Ramza is next to Ovelia, I note, both of them leaning back on their hands with legs outstretched in front. They seem completely comfortable next to one another. Between the two of them, there's just enough strangeness that I'm having a hard time guessing what they might be talking about. Warm firelight dances on five different faces as the group carries on at least two distinct conversations.

Some time later I stroll over to the eastern edge of the camp, ignoring how my cloak whips against the sides of my legs. Somewhere far to the east, on another hilltop, I can just make out a wink of orange; someone else must be there with another fire. They're like an anonymous neighbor, I think wistfully, a wordless presence like the people on two passing ships. I smile.

Eventually, in a lull in the wind, I hear approaching boots and the faint creak of leather. When neither of the knights addresses me as "Captain," I know that it's Ramza, and sure enough he steps up to stand beside me, staring soulfully off into the distance.

I turn my head slightly towards him. "Did you ever get to ask Princess Ovelia your question?"

He blinks, frowning for a moment until he recalls what I'm talking about. "Oh. Yes, I did."

I nod, trying to keep hair from swirling into my face. "Was her answer to your liking?"

Ramza purses his lips, but his expression is not one of contemplation. "I think it was," he answers distantly.

Clearly something's on his mind. I fall silent, waiting; he'll speak when he's ready.

Eventually he shakes his head slowly. "I don't think I've ever been so close to death as I was today. Real death, I mean. Crystal death."

I eye him in curiosity. "You've never been raised? Never had phoenix down used on you?" God, I remember my first few battles after training. I think I died in every other one for a couple of weeks.

"Oh, I have," he answers. "Phoenix downs, at least; Gafgarion and his people aren't so thrilled with white magic. But... something about this was different. Maybe it lasted longer? I don't know."

I nod my understanding. "How did it feel?"

"Cold," he replies quietly. His voice, though earnest as it always is, seems troubled as well. "But then you brought me back, and it all seemed warm. When I opened my eyes, the first thing I noticed was how... how beautiful everything was."

For some reason I am unable to move, my face locked in a dubious frown, my mind in an indecisive swirl. Is he... is he _complimenting_ me? No, he probably just means the whole world was beautiful. But he wasn't looking at the world; he was only looking at me. But Ramza is too timid, too polite, to compliment someone like that. But he certainly seems flustered now, just standing there. But he could just be nervous because I haven't said anything.

"It is... good to understand death," I answer as the silence is growing uncomfortable. You died, Ramza. You'll get used to it. "Even in our line of work, not everyone does."

He is young. He's confusing one thing for another.

Ramza grimaces at the ground. "I suppose they don't."

Silence reigns between us for a moment, but eventually I glance over at him in concern. "I'm glad you didn't die."

He doesn't lift his gaze from the determined weeds clinging to the rocks under his boots. "Agrias?"

"Yes?"

"Do you... like... killing?"

"No," I answer without hesitation. I can safely say I don't care for it at all. After the first time I killed, I had nightmares for a month. Now, it doesn't bother me so much... but I don't forget.

"But you probably have to do it often," he continues. "How do you make it work?"

I sigh, feeling the wind push my hair mischievously about. "I pray. I just pray that... that I've done right. That he understands."

"I hope he does, too," whispers Ramza. His face looks, if anything, more discouraged than before.

I spare him another glance. "That's just what I do, Ramza. What helps you might be different."

He nods faintly, but doesn't say anything. Behind us, back at the campfire, I can hear Alicia laughing at something someone else has said.

Eventually Ramza heaves a sigh. "Agrias, thank you for talking with me." Without waiting for an answer, he turns and starts walking away, head down. Rather than return to the fire, I watch as he shuffles back towards the south, eventually seating himself on the ground overlooking the hills, near where I'd been standing watch earlier.

I frown, but soon turn the other way and start heading to the north side of the camp to continue my watch. As I walk, my cloak flaps wildly and I pull it tighter around me. The wind didn't feel so cold a moment ago.

* * *

The next morning our bedraggled party approaches the gates of Lionel Castle. A pair of guards, knights, atop the battlements watch our progress with interest. 

"Who are you?" calls out one of the men, a tall bearded fellow. "What do you want?"

I stop, and the others do with me. Drawing myself to my full height, I answer loudly and clearly. "I'm Agrias Oaks of the Lesalia St. Konoe Knights! I came from Orbonne to save the son of God, St. Ajora. Open the gate!"

The guards atop the wall exchange glances. "Saving St. Ajora is the will of the high priest," answers the first. "The gate will open for he who would save the high priest. Open the gate!"

I wait, wondering if either of them appreciates the irony of using the ritual greeting in the city where Saint Ajora himself was caught. Somewhere inside, something mechanical clunks, and the gate begins to rumble upwards, opening for us.

Wasting no time, we continue onwards and into Lionel. Just inside the gate, a guard at the lever watches us pass with some minor trepidation. Likely he hasn't seen the St. Konoe in some time.

Before we're twenty paces inside, a herald sprints, literally sprints out to meet us, one hand holding onto his tricorne cap. I admit I don't know how they summoned him so quickly, but there he is. Reaching us somewhat out of breath, the man bows. "Lady Agrias," he greets rapidly. "The Cardinal sends his warmest greetings. Welcome to Lionel Castle."


	4. Chapter 4: The Game of Kings

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy Tactics or any of the characters therein. I am using them without permission and will cease to do so if asked. Please don't sue.

* * *

Chapter Four: The Game of Kings 

"The Cardinal is busy for the rest of the day," sighs our guide, Galzin, his voice oozing regret as he escorts us through the massive Lionel Castle. "However, he'd like to speak with you tomorrow. You are welcome to roam the castle at your leisure, though he insists that you don't wander into the town, for the Princess's sake." He pauses, smiling benevolently. "Certainly after traveling, some time to wash up and relax would not be unwelcome."

I nod. The man is a skilled mediator, able to turn a delay into a reason to celebrate. Still, he has a point. My skin feels like it's caked in dirt, and I'm relatively used to it; I can only imagine how Princess Ovelia must feel. "Of course."

Galzin's smile widens briefly before disappearing into a mask of professional openness. Our party's footsteps echo oddly in the stark stone hallway. "Your guest quarters are just up here," explains the mediator, gesturing ahead at the next set of doors. "There are two, one for Her Highness and another for yourself and your women. The rooms have an adjoining door, and should be sufficiently large even for three people."

Of that, I have no doubt. Lionel Castle is a big place. "What about Ramza and Mustadio?"

"Separate rooms," answers Galzin pleasantly, "just a few doors down." I get the impression they are not as nice as Ovelia's or my own quarters.

I pause in front of the doors he has indicated, then face the man. "Thank you. Where are the washrooms?"

Galzin turns to point down the hallway briefly before folding hands behind his back again. "Down that way and around the corner. The kitchens are two floors below here, as well. Is there anything else?"

I shake my head. "Thank you for your help."

The herald smiles. "If you have further needs, I will be about." He bows slightly, then turns and offers a much deeper bow to Ovelia. "Highness." With one final smile, he departs back the way we came.

As he is disappearing, I open the door to Ovelia's rooms and hold it there for her. With a smile, the princess gathers her skirts and steps past me into what looks to be an entire suite.

Alicia and Lavian begin filing into the room I'll be sharing with them, and I take a moment to address the men. "We'll be washing up shortly," I explain. "Afterwards, perhaps we can share dinner in... in our rooms, I suppose."

The fellows nod, Mustadio smiling, and start heading to their own guest spaces. I put them out of my mind for the moment and return my attention to Ovelia.

The young heiress, I see, is in the process of gazing around at her suite. It is plush, bordering on opulent, with an enormous four-posted bed, gold-inlaid cedar chests and wardrobes, and lace everywhere. I hate lace. Crimson rugs spread across the floor will help to take some of the chill out of the castle.

Ovelia makes some sort of cooing noise, apparently in delight, and I wonder about that until I recall that she's spent her life thus far in stark monasteries. Grinning, she leaps onto the bed, arms and legs flung outwards, and sinks into the feather mattress. Her muffled giggles reach my ears.

I have to fight to keep from smiling at her glee. "Princess Ovelia," I call, speaking loudly in case her ears are covered as well, "don't you want to clean up?"

The young woman rises out of the mattress, brushing hair from her eyes as she grins at me. "Eventually," she sighs, giggling again. "Don't you want to try this? When was the last time you jumped on a bed?"

"A long time ago," I admit. "Princess... I'm heavier than you," I point out, "and I'm wearing armor besides. I'd fall right through."

"Oh, fine," she concedes, still giggling as she slips to her feet. "I suppose I'd be happier not smelling like a chocobo."

I nod, waiting as she returns to where I'm standing, by the door. I make certain to be the first into the hallway, and I glance carefully in both directions before allowing the Princess out. In a populated place like Lionel, we can't be too careful.

Galzin's word appears to have been good; as he claimed, the washrooms are just a short walk away. The women's section, we quickly learn, is located past two sets of doors and a few twists in the short hallway, as though the castle's architects had been keen to protect the modesty of its female inhabitants. I can't say I'll complain about that.

We soon reach a squarish room filled with benches and privacy curtains on sliding wooden rings. A dressing room, then. I spot Lavian's and Alicia's belongings together in one corner, though their clothes are absent. Judging by the presence of a heavy-set middle-aged woman in servant's livery, I assume my knights' garments are being washed. Lovely. Their echoing voices float out through a green-tiled hallway, along with the occasional wisp of steam.

Striding over to the servant, I nod at her companionably, then raise my arms in the universal gesture for standing up. She does so, frowning uncertainly. Her expression darkens further as I pat her down for hidden weapons, but the woman's dark eyes flicker to my shield, with the St. Konoe insignia, and she says nothing.

After a moment I give her a reassuring smile, then step to an open bench near where Ovelia is carelessly disrobing. Without a word I begin undoing my armor, glancing around for a place to put it. Then I sigh. Though there is an abundance of hangers and racks for dresses and the like, there is no suitable place to store armor. I avoid the urge to grumble under my breath about it, but don't they get female knights in here, ever? They must. In Lesalia, this would never be a problem.

As I am still working on my leg plates, Ovelia grabs a soft linen towel and pads down the hallway to where the baths presumably are. Quickly I can hear Alicia and Lavian greeting her, and in moments all three voices are engaged in chatter.

Before long I manage to remove all of my armor, stowing it wrapped in towels on and under my bench. I shake my head at the awkwardness of doing so as I start shrugging out of the rest of my garments, the blue coat and breeches. They come off much more quickly than the forged plates did.

Frowning for a moment, I step to one of the two mirrors in the room and study my naked reflection. Most of the time I see a mirror perhaps once a month, which is plenty for me; I've never been overly vain about my appearance, and as I scrutinize myself now, I become even less so.

Ramza may have called me beautiful, and he may not have, but others have said so flat-out. I can't see it, though. I suppose my face is pretty enough, true. Then again, I have scars all over my body, and it just happens that none of them are above my neck where people can see them. I also still have a faint pink birthmark, faded with age, stretching for a hand's length around one hip. My arms and shoulders are more muscled than I suppose most women's are, and my hands are rough and callused from years of wielding swords and reins and being stuffed into gloves. My left breast is a tiny bit higher than the right, though you couldn't notice without looking for the difference, and my ribs are faintly visible under them both. I am fairly slim, but I do have a woman's curves; everything is largely what and where it's supposed to be, but that's about the extent of my physical beauty. Nothing to write home about, certainly.

Why do I care? Typically I don't. In fact, I never really think of myself as a woman. If someone were to ask me what I am, the answer would be, "I'm a Holy Knight," not, "I'm a woman." That might have been different once, as a young woman during my first few cycles, back when I still had an eye for boys, but it didn't last long. When I discovered that most of them were, in fact, rather boring, my attention returned to my first and only love, the sword. A sword will never grope you, won't deceive or dissemble, and will stay at your side until the day it breaks.

"Captain?" comes Alicia's voice from the washroom. "Are you coming? Or are you just going to guard us and stay dirty?"

I sigh, turning from the mirror and my pointless self-inspection. Gripping my braid, I untie the leather cord binding it and toss the thing atop my clothes. Then I grab a towel and my scabbarded blade and walk into the bathing chamber.

The steam grows with every step until I feel I am coated with hot dew. After a week or so in the sun and the wind, though, it feels quite refreshing. Ovelia and the knights are in a trio of copper tubs in the farthest corner, so I stride over to join them, tossing my things on the floor nearby.

"He is rather cute," Lavian is musing as I approach, "but I never know what he's thinking when he looks at me. Besides, I prefer blue or green eyes on a man."

Alicia grunts noncommitally, soaping up an arm. All three women are sprawled in their tubs, with only shoulders, heads and knees visible above the hot water. "Yeah," she allows, "the way he can stare is a little odd, but I love his smile. It's to die for."

"Who are you talking about?" I ask against my better judgement as I dip a leg into the water in my chosen tub. It's hot, almost too hot for comfort; it'll take me a while to get fully in. "Ramza?"

The knights share a sudden laugh, and I frown at them. "What?"

"We were talking about Sir Fendal," explains Lavian. "Back at the capital."

"Why?" wonders Alicia slyly. "Do you like Ramza's smile, then?"

I favor her with a dark look. "I never really think about that," I answer truthfully.

"Right," she sighs, holding her hands up defensively. "Sorry."

"Well, I like it," decides Ovelia thoughtfully. "He seems kind." Lavian shrugs and nods.

"What about Mustadio?" prompts Alicia.

Lavian eyes her. "What about him?"

"Is he cute?"

"You tell me," counters Lavian.

Alicia frowns, thinking, then shrugs. "He's nice," she allows. "And he does have a nice bum." Ovelia giggles.

"I prefer Ramza's," opines Lavian sagely.

I sigh and settle fully into my tub, savoring the distraction of the hot pain against my skin since it helps me ignore the other women. I would prefer the company of men over them, but I know they're just as bad when no women are around. Maybe the likes of Ramza and Mustadio aren't, I suppose; they don't seem like the ogling type.

Eventually the other women leave off discussing men and move on to other topics of gossip, and I sigh in relief, pretending to be absorbed in my bath. I don't know why it makes me uncomfortable; I should think I'd just be able to ignore that sort of talk without a problem. Perhaps I worry that if they start pairing up with likely fellows I'll have even fewer people around that I know and trust. There are few enough as it is.

Before long the water in our baths begins to grow to merely warm, then tepid. Ovelia sighs, lifting herself from the copper basin, and in an instant I am up as well. Dripping wet, I grab my blade, still in its scabbard, and return to the dressing room before she can reach it. When I find it empty of potential assassins, I give the Princess a nod and allow her in. With a shake of her head she tosses me my own towel, which I'd left in there in my haste.

In the time it took us to bathe, the servants have apparently not finished washing our clothes, so instead there are replacements for each of us, a variety of robes and dresses to choose from. There is a coat and breeches for me, I note with pleasure, though as I lift them up for inspection I realize they are sized for a man. I sigh. The shoulders will be loose, and the sleeves a bit long, perhaps, but it's better than a dress. The color, though, makes me wince; it's Lionel's colors, a plain red with white cuffs. My mother once remarked that red makes me look like a corpse.

Thanks, Mother. And you wonder why I didn't study law like you did.

Given the nature of my garments, I dress more quickly than the others, then spend a moment helping Ovelia into a flowered white gown that looks as though it was cut for her figure specifically. I shake my head faintly at that, as Alicia and Lavian begin complaining about tight sleeves while trying to figure the corsets out.

Somet time later, after I've armored up, we finally manage to leave the dressing room and head back to our own spaces. I smell clean, soapy; I remind myself to enjoy it while it lasts. Usually I smell more of mud, dust and steel.

Ovelia wastes no time throwing open the conjoining door between our suites. The chattering quickly resumes -- well, it never really stopped -- and I listen with half an ear as I start pulling an ivory-handled brush through my hair. I don't pay much attention to it, usually, but I don't want it to tangle.

Eventually hearing my own name catches my attention. "What about you, Agrias?" asks Ovelia curiously, putting her own brush aside for a moment to stare at me with those honey-brown eyes.

"What?" I pause in mid-brushstroke. "I... wasn't listening."

"How old are you?" asks Alicia, brow furrowed as though surprised that she herself doesn't know. "I couldn't remember."

I frown at her, then shift the expression to the Princess. "I'm twenty-one," I answer.

"Oh!" she blinks, then giggles. "You're only four years older than me. You seem older than that."

I do? I hesitate, uncertain how to take her remark, then finally shrug. Without answering I resume brushing my hair.

Ovelia smiles, perhaps intending to soothe any offense she caused, and immediately leaps back into the conversation, steering it away from me. I obligingly let my attention wander again.

What plans do I need to make while I'm here? I suppose it depends largely on what the Cardinal tells us tomorrow, but it wouldn't hurt to have some backup plans in case things fall badly. If he decides to hand the Princess over to one of the Lions, for example, not that I really see that happening. Still, I'm a captain in the St. Konoe Knights, and I can't rule out the possibility that he'll betray us. Perhaps it would be ideal to learn the layout of the Castle in case I have to break in. Or out.

I chuckle suddenly at the lengths to which my imagination has gone. Still, in all likelihood I'll be here for a while, so it's not like I'll have much else to do besides wander the place with Ovelia.

Shortly a knock sounds on the door. Lavian opens it and grins at Ramza and Mustadio standing outside. "Come in," she beckons, leaving the door open as she strolls back to where she'd been sitting at the end of her bed.

The men do so, Ramza pausing to heel the door shut behind him. They've cleaned up as well, I note, and even have their original garments back, though Ramza's have several obvious repairs from where he's been hacked and stabbed recently. In addition, it looks as though they've visited the armory, or at least the young nobleman has; he's clad in shiny new gold-edged armor, the kind a knight would wear. I suppose that is what he trained for, really, in Gariland or Igros or wherever. I'd thought he was still a squire, but he doesn't look like it.

I blink, wondering why he'd been wearing the plain mithril stuff before now. Perhaps he couldn't afford better; I can see Gafgarion as the type to be stingy paying his subordinates.

"Whoah," says Mustadio as the two men shuffle to a halt a few paces into the room. He is staring at Alicia and Lavian, shaking his head faintly.

"What?" asks Alicia slyly. "Never seen a woman before?"

The young engineer smiles uncomfortably and reaches to toy with his short ponytail. "That's not what I've expected knights to look like."

I glance again at the other women, then shake my head tiredly. Right. Dresses and corsets. It is certainly odd how a little bit of string and cloth can give a woman so much more than God himself did originally.

Alicia giggles. "These are just until our clothes are cleaned and pressed and all that." She's clad in a leafy-green colored dress, one that suits her reddish hair nicely, while Lavian has gone with something of pale blue. It matches her eyes.

I'd considered telling them to don armor again, but it seemed unlikely we'd been attacked in the next few hours, so I thought I may as well let them enjoy drawing male stares in the interim. Now I'm beginning to rethink that decision.

"I understand," answers Mustadio. "It's just... anyway, it's nice to be clean."

I reach for the leather cord I use to tie my braid, then glance at Ramza, wondering why he hasn't spoken yet. Then I see that he's smiling at me. Not at Alicia or Lavian, but at me. "What?" I ask.

He blinks, perhaps not having realized I was aware of his attention. "It's..." Pausing, he clears his throat. "I've never seen your hair down before."

Briefly I glance down at where my unbound hair is hanging to a point halfway down my torso. As it dries, it's trying to curl into loose golden ringlets. "What about it?" I continue.

Ramza shrugs awkwardly. "It's pretty," he explains. "I think the braid suits you more, though."

It's pretty, is it? I see. I feel a frown growing as I gaze at him without answering; there seem to be about a half-dozen ways I could interpret his words, some good and some bad. My fingers touch hair, startling me; I realize I've reached up to touch it without looking.

It's not totally dry yet. It probably wouldn't hurt to let it breathe some before tying it back up. With a mental shrug I place the cord back on the floor beside me.

"Have you told them to bring food yet?" asks Mustadio of the room in general, glancing from face to face. "I wouldn't mind a warm meal for once."

"We haven't," answers Ovelia. "I was just thinking about that."

"Alicia?" I prompt, eyeing the younger woman. Serves her right for dressing like that, for teasing the men.

The knight sighs, then stands. "I'll be back," she promises, a touch petulantly, as she slips out the door to find the kitchens.

"Ooh," breathes Ramza, staring at one corner of the room. "Chess." A board table stands there, made of marble, with a chair behind the neatly-arranged pieces on either side.

"Do you play?" asks Mustadio, eyeing the other man.

Ramza nods slowly. "A little. Want to try a game?"

"Sure," agrees Mustadio easily. Together the two men trot over to the table and hover there. The mechanic plucks a pawn of each color from the board, then switches them about before holding them behind his back. "Which hand?"

"Ah... the right," decides Ramza, pointing.

Mustadio grins, holding out his right hand, which contains a black pawn. The men then claim their respective chairs, and Mustadio begins the game with an advancing pawn.

Intrigued, I unfold my legs and head over to the table to watch. The men play quickly; behind me, Ovelia and Lavian chat quietly while they await Alicia's return.

Neither Mustadio or Ramza is a good chess player, I discover. The mechanic plays solidly, taking few risks but also not seizing key opportunities. Ramza, on the other hand, seems to have a half-dozen brilliant plans somewhere in his head, but lacks the patience to implement any of them; several times I see him laying out a respectable trap, only to ruin it by capturing some random other piece of Mustadio's.

"Don't," he sighs irritably at one point. Hazel eyes slide towards me accusingly.

I scowl at him. "What?"

"You're... making noise," he complains. "Every time I move you sigh or grunt or just shake your head. I wish you would stop. Or at least do it to Mustadio too."

"Fine," I answer darkly. I'd been thinking about giving the two some advice, but now they can do without it.

Just as Alicia is returning, the game ends in a draw. Mustadio holds the advantage in pieces, but Ramza has created a stalemate in his pursuit of the other man's king. Vaguely I wonder how things would have gone if the colors had been reversed.

"They'll send food up," explains Alicia happily, closing the door behind her. "Roast lamb and several other things I don't remember."

Everyone but me makes noises of approval. Well, Ramza doesn't say anything either, I note. He's still scowling at me. "What?" I ask him for the third time tonight.

"Do you want to play?" he asks irritably. "You've been staring at the game like a hawk."

What in the world is wrong with that? "I like chess," I answer defensively. "And yes, I'll play. You or Mustadio?"

The mechanic raises his hands, clearly wishing to stay out of the bickering. "I'll... let you play, Ramza," he declares, standing aside so he can watch the game.

I turn to Ramza, composing myself. "You can play white."

His face darkens; he thinks I'm throwing him a bone, offering a magnanimous advantage to a lesser player. "No. You play white. I'll play black."

What is your problem, Ramza? I want to slap him, but that's not the right response. Instead I raise a cool eyebrow at him, then slide behind the table. Once we finish moving the pieces back to their starting positions, I attack, using the Bervenia opening, a non-standard attack. See how you like that, you brat.

Ramza counters with something I don't recognize, something guarded, and I keep pressing. I'm not a master, far from it, but my father was, and he taught me number of insights about the game of kings.

This game, like the last, proceeds quickly. Unlike the last, I shred him.

As the young squire -- knight? -- tips his king in resignation, I offer a hand over the table. He glares at me for a moment but eventually shakes my hand.

I hold the contact longer than is necessary, meeting his eyes with a silent request. I want to help him, really, I do -- he clearly has a grasp for strategy, needing just a little help in organization to make it work -- but I'm not just going to tell him what I think he should have done; he already thinks I'm overbearing. He has to ask.

He chooses not to. "Good game," he mumbles, breaking his gaze away from mine and releasing my hand.

I nod, adjusting my seat in the chair. "Another?"

He grunts. "Maybe... maybe later," he allows vaguely, standing. He and Mustadio exchange a glance of some sort, then start back towards where the women are gathered.

I stop him with a word. "Ramza?"

The man hesitates, then turns around to face me. Mustadio rolls his shoulders uncomfortably and keeps on, leaving us in relative privacy.

I open my mouth to tell him I'm not trying to be cruel or vindictive, but the words sound lame even before I speak them, so I don't. Instead I choose something that's not only true, but which I suspect will soothe his ruffled feathers somewhat. "I enjoyed playing with you."

Ramza frowns at me as though suspecting I meant something else, then nods. Some of his anger seems to have dissipated, at least. "We'll play again later," he decides, inclining his head slightly. Then he turns and is gone, over to where Lavian is doing an exaggerated impression of someone from the Academy.

What am I going to do with him? The question weighs abruptly on my mind, and I wonder why it didn't before. He's a mercenary but no one's paying him; he's following me, but I'm not his commander. Should I draw up a contract for him? It would be good to keep him around, I think, but I also suspect that what he's doing, he's not doing for the money. Should I dismiss him? I could, but that seems boorish, not to mention self-defeating. I could try to get him to be one of St. Konoe, like Alicia and Lavian, but they'd want to know _exactly_ who he is, including his all of his past, and I'm not certain he wants to give that up. And that's if they would take him at all; he's an enemy of the Hokuten, and while it's probably not instantly damning, it would certainly raise a few eyebrows in Lesalia.

Ramza, why must you create so many complications? Who are you, anyway?

As I'm watching, Lavian finishes whatever story she's telling, and everyone laughs, even Ramza. It strikes me that they're all of a comparable age, though my knights have more worldly experience than the rest, except for possibly Ramza. Is that why I don't fit in? Am I too old for their talk, too hardened for their jokes?

No, that's not it. I don't fit in because they're all talking together while I've chosen to sit alone at a chess table.

People who will tease you and talk back to you are not as likely to react with instant obedience when it counts, or at least my instructors always claimed as much in Lesalia. Aloofness is part of commanding. I knew as much when I took my position; why does it bother me now? I know a scale can't tilt both ways at once.

After a moment I rouse myself and pad quietly over to where my belongings lay. Sitting easily on the floor again, I place my sword across my knees and begin to sharpen it, facing the door. I know my responsibilities, and I don't forget.

Eventually the food arrives. A pair of servants push it to our rooms on a cart; steam rises faintly from under the lids of the silver trays, tempting me with aromas of spiced meat and vegetables. Mustadio was right, I acknowledge silently; warm food will be a treat.

As the servants depart and Lavian begins to dole out what they've brought, I finally begin braiding my hair back up. I don't want it to get in my food, and though I would not admit it publicly, I find it pleasant, even soothing, to spend the necessary moments twisting it through my fingers in that intricate pattern. It's nothing important, really, but it's a manual skill I'm good at, and I take pleasure in that. Much of what I do with my hands results in twisted metal and crushed bodies, so it's a nice change.

Soon I, too, claim a plate from the cart, taking moderate portions of the dishes there. The people in the kitchens have provided us with a variety of beverages as well; I choose a punch of some sort. Most of the others have taken wine, though Ovelia and Ramza seem content with milk from the chilled pewter pitcher.

The others have clustered near Lavian's bed, so I join them there, sitting on the floor between Mustadio and Ovelia. It vaguely surprises me that the Princess would lower herself so, both figuratively and literally, but I've come to expect such from her.

I quickly pick up on the current conversation. They are discussing combat, it seems; I recall Mustadio asking a question about shields, and wasn't it heavy to carry them, and it must have gone from there.

Alicia is talking now, apparently going on about fighting styles. "...the shield," she says. "It's always in the way, of course -- that's what it's for -- so it's nice to be able to shatter one once in a while."

Mustadio frowns. "That seems like a waste of effort, though. Why would you go out of your way to attack someone's shield when it's really the person himself you're trying to kill?"

"Our last few battles notwithstanding," the knight answers dryly, "not every fight goes to the death. When armies clash, if you lose only one man in ten, most times that's pretty bad. Equipment is expensive, and if you can force your opponents to replace it, that's good. Or, if they don't, then you have an enemy fighting without a shield, and that's good too. Even if it's just one-on-one, it sometimes makes sense to break the shield to open up the rest of the body."

"Oh," nods the mechanic. "I suppose that does all make sense. How do you do that, though? Do you just look for weak spots in the construction?"

"Partly," explains Lavian. "You have to know the materials involved, and how they are made into the shield... or whatever it is. Everything has a weakness, so knowing how to break something is just a matter of stresses and angles. It's nothing special, really."

Mustadio nods again, apparently thinking. After a moment he turns to me with an inquisitive expression painting his features. "What about how you fight, Agrias? I've never seen anyone who does that before."

I meet his gaze, slowly chewing on a mouthful of lamb. Eventually I swallow, then tilt my head in question. "What about it?"

"How do you do it? Is it magic?"

I shake my head. "It's not magic. It's just..." How to explain it? It's like asking someone how they breathe, or at least it's like that now. When I was first learning, though, it was much harder. I think back to how my instructors taught me. "Think of the soul as a very malleable metal," I suggest. "What my training lets me do is shape into a blade and use it against others. I need an actual physical sword to do it, but it's more like a... a symbol. A proxy. Though it does have its influence on the attack it makes, I suppose."

Ramza is listening with interest, I note, as are the other knights. "So you're actually using your _soul_?" repeats Mustadio, seemingly torn between doubt and wonder. "How does that work?"

I shrug again. "The soul comes from God, of course, so that is why we must pray and meditate as well as train to do it; people like me are not called 'Holy' Knights for nothing. Apart from that, though, it's not totally unlike using any other part of the body. For all I know, it's how wizards work, too."

Silence answers me as the others ponder this. Well, everyone but Ovelia; the Princess is staring off at a window, clearly lost in thought. I'm sure she doesn't care for this talk of fighting.

After a moment, Lavian directs a glance at Ramza. "What of you, then?" she asks. "I've never heard anyone shout so loudly when they run into battle. Why do you do that?"

The Gallionian turns faintly red. "I... don't know," he admits. "It helps me. I..." He trails off uncomfortably, then sighs. "I hate fighting," he admits in a quiet voice. "Yelling helps me push my fear aside."

Heads nod around the makeshift circle. Lavian's eyes grow soft in sympathy as she gazes at the former mercenary, and I have the sudden suspicion that she'd hug him if there were fewer people about.

I do a double-take, staring between the dress-clad knight and Ramza. I hadn't really thought about it, but I'm in a party with two young men and a handful of young women. Crap. I'll have to keep an eye on them. Ramza, to his credit, is at least staring at his lap, not at Lavian.

Further conversation is spared by the arrival of a team of servants with the women's clothing. Ovelia wakes from her trance and smiles, directing them to hang the things in an empty wardrobe for now.

As the livery-clad women bustle out of the suite, a lighter conversation returns as the women begin chatting about clothes again. I can understand Ovelia, but for the life of me I can't figure out how Alicia and Lavian know so much about clothing. They're as busy as I am, most of the time; perhaps, when they were younger, they cared about it more than I did. Ramza and Mustadio endure it all in stoic silence as we finish eating.

Soon we've had enough food. Ovelia shoos the men out for the time being, then strips down to her shift. I quickly shrug out of the red Lionel clothes they've given me and into my own. The knights, I see, are taking their time, fingering sleeves uncertainly while they stare into the wardrobe at their more mundane garments. They're having second thoughts, I see; perhaps they like having their chests stared at, but I don't. One look from me is all it takes to get them to start changing.

Eventually the other women finish their primping, so I dispatch Lavian to retrieve the men. What follows, I can only describe as a portrait of boredom; with nothing to do, our party simply sits about. I feel tempted to explore the Castle in some detail, but after so many days of hard walking, I'm content to wait the evening out for once.

After a few hours pass, curiously, the chessboard again becomes an item of attention. As the suite's only entertainment, it first draws the two knights, simply out of a desire to do something, I suppose. As they arrange the pieces, I stroll over as well to watch, and in moments our entire group is there, watching a nervous Alicia and Lavian play.

The younger women's play does not proceed as quickly as the earlier games; Alicia, playing black, constructs a meticulous defense that Lavian seems loath to disturb. As I watch, I notice Ramza frowning at me from time to time, and when I ponder that, I realize it's probably because I'm not grunting at this game like earlier. Well, let him wonder.

Almost an hour later, by my guess, Alicia emerges as the winner on account of an endgame flub on Lavian's part. The two women grin at each other as they arrange the pieces again.

"I'm surprised I won," admits Alicia frankly. "You had me terrified there with that last offensive."

Lavian shakes her head mildly, neatening up her white pawns. "I was just praying I wouldn't drop it in the endgame like I always do."

"And you did anyway," giggles the other woman, standing and stretching from the table. Then she glances around with interest. "Who's next?"

"Agrias is good," notes Mustadio, perhaps trying to be helpful. "She should play someone."

I give him a sour look as my knights murmur their approval. Thanks, Mustadio. "Fine," I sigh. "Who else?"

"Your Highness?" prompts Mustadio.

Ovelia smiles. "I don't play, Mustadio. Simon taught me, but all I know is how the pieces move."

"Well, I don't want to play," frowns the mechanic, glancing about. "Not against her." I spare him another scowl.

"We just played," points out Lavian as she and Alicia exchange glances.

All eyes shift to Ramza, who sighs. "Fine," he mutters. "I'll play her again."

I grab a pair of opposing pawns and hold them out to him in closed fists. He taps my left, which contains the white piece. We eye each other briefly, then assume our respective seats.

Since the knights have already arranged the board, there is nothing for Ramza to do but move, but he doesn't. For a time he just sits there, elbows on the table, chin in his hands, and stares at the virgin board. Moments slide past in silence; before long the gathered spectators eye one another in confusion.

Finally Ramza makes his first move. It is an unusual opening, the Bervenia attack, and I can't help but smile.

It's what I opened with last time. He's using my own moves against me.

I know the handful of proper responses to the opening, but instead I think back briefly to our earlier game, trying to recall what he'd done. He played a variation on the standard king's pawn defense, I believe. I accept his implied challenge and advance just as he did earlier, when our roles were reversed.

It will be a game within a game, then. I admit I am intrigued.

His face screws up in thought again, and it occurs to me that he is taxing his memory to recall what I did in the last game. Apparently it comes to him more quickly than for the first move, because he advances another pawn, still echoing my strategy in the first game.

Obligingly I copy his second move from earlier as well. It puts me in an awkward position but not an unstable one.

Almost immediately Ramza continues our scripted performance, developing his king-side bishop to the third rank, just as I did. The Bervenia opening is an unassuming one, slow to grow but very difficult to stop.

On my third move I part from his plan, pushing a pawn forward a single space instead of the two that he had done before. I've kept it on a white square, making his developed bishop slightly less useful. Do you see, Ramza?

He frowns at my side of the board. Hazel eyes dart back in forth from one side to the other, tracing out patterns of attack and defense in his mind.

The silence stretches. None of the others so much as clears a throat; they can sense that something is happening beyond the game itself.

Finally Ramza moves again. He is still sticking to the script, as if to prod me. What else would I have done differently?

Now I rest my chin in an open palm as well, frowning in earnest. His silent question is a worthy one. Long moments pass; I begin to ignore the others watching us. If they grow bored they can always wander off.

Eventually I push that same pawn a second space forward. It's taken me four moves to match his three from the previous game, but his board position is now different from how mine was. It's not the same game.

Once again he frowns at my defenses as though attempting to divine my intents through sheer force of will. Out in the hallway beyond, muffled voices rise and fade as people walk past.

"Your pawn is unprotected," he observes quietly. His brow is still furrowed, his gaze on the board.

"It is," I agree, my voice just as low. If he wants to attack it, he is free to do so, but it will unbalance his pawn structure, and I trust in my ability to make something of it later.

He nods. After a moment he brings out the king-side knight, placing it directly in front of his king, not in the bishop's file as I had done. He hasn't taken my bait.

Good, Ramza. Either he can see what I'm up to, or he's just suspicious of me. Either will do.

I pull out a bishop, placing it in front of an undeveloped pawn. After the move, I glance up at him.

My opponent is once more frowning fiercely at my black pieces. "That blocks your pawn's development," he notes softly.

"It does," I confirm.

Ramza chews a lip for a time, then moves again. We've left the first game behind now; this one has diverged too much, but I can still see echoes of it here and there. Every now and then he points out some perceived flaw in my defenses, and I acknowledge them.

He hasn't asked any questions, I realize, at least not directly. Likewise, I never provide any explantions, just confirmations, as if to say, yes, I admit the weakness you see, and you will discover my reasoning behind it shortly.

The game proceeds steadily, but slowly. I find I enjoy watching him learn, watching the pieces fit together in his head.

I end up beating him. Barely.

You're not so bad when you stop to think, Ramza. You should do it more.

Once again I offer my hand across the table. This time he doesn't hesitate to shake it. His eyes meet my own confidently, almost challengingly; if he was nervous around me before, he isn't anymore. He's shown that I must take him seriously, at the least.

I meet his gaze with a startled smile, perhaps a weak one. That wasn't the response I was expecting, but I suppose it's not all bad.

"Well," sighs Alicia briskly, rubbing her arms. "That wasn't weird at all."

"No," agrees Lavian thoughtfully. She is frowning at me, I realize. They both are.

I shake my head tiredly. "I'm going to bed," I declare. "It's late, and we don't know when the Cardinal will see us tomorrow, so I suggest everyone else do likewise."

Scattered murmurs of assent meet my words. With outstretched arms I usher Mustadio and Ramza to the door, then close it behind them. Clothing rustles in our conjoined suites as the other women begin shrugging out of their garments.

"It'll be so nice to sleep in a real bed," I hear Ovelia murmuring in her own rooms. "With real blankets."

I peer through the door to smile at her. "Don't let it spoil you, Highness."

* * *

The next morning, I find myself in Cardinal Draclau's office bright and early. Well, it would be bright if the curtains hadn't been drawn over the room's few tiny windows. You'd think a holy man, one of the most powerful in Ivalice, would want a study full of God's light, but such is apparently not the case with Draclau. 

"I understand your situation, Agrias," he states simply. His voice is a low, soothing rumble; I can almost imagine the masses falling into peacful slumber while he is in the pulpit. Hiding a smile, I quickly banish the blasphemous thought. "Moreover, I'll send a man to the High Priest in Murond. We'll do something to expose Larg's scheme, and keep the Princess from danger."

Relief washes over me, and it's all I can do to keep myself from slumping, though one question remains, a fairly important one. "Will High Priest Funeral help us?"

"Don't worry, Agrias," soothes the bald clergyman. "I'm with you. You must be strong to make the Princess feel at ease. Make yourselves comfortable in this old castle until word comes from the holy land." His voice is still soft in its rocky way, as though he's talking about a stroll in the courtyard rather than destroying Prince Larg and handing the Regency to Goltana.

Princess Ovelia lowers her head in gratitude. "Thank you for your kindness." She speaks softly too, as though she also sees the chaos her presence here will likely cause. And how couldn't she? It must weigh on her.

"St. Ajora is with us," observes Draclau simply. "There is no need to worry." His round head swivels to face Mustadio, who swallows. "Young mechanic, I heard your wish too. I'll send troops to Goug, to destroy Bart Company."

The mechanic blinks at this, then smiles in relief. "Thank you."

I keep my face neutral, but inside I'm reeling in surprise. The Cardinal is not only taking on Larg, in effect, but also Bart Company? He could hardly choose two more powerful enemies. Even for him, it's dangerous. Few men in his position would do such a thing.

"But," continues Draclau, "would you explain why they're after you two?"

Mustadio shifts his feet uncomfortably. He's not going to answer again; I can tell. "I... can't."

"That's alright," assures Lionel's governor mildly. "Is this it?" Reaching into his robes, he withdraws a giant crystal, a ruby, bigger than most men's fists.

No, not a ruby, I realize. A ruby wouldn't be spherical, but what the Cardinal has looks like it's as smooth and round as the sun. He places it gently on the desk before him.

I swallow. "What is that crystal?"

The big man turns his attention to me. "Have you ever heard of the 'Zodiac Brave Story?'"

I have to try not to smile. "You mean that fairy tale we used to hear in church?"

"Here now," chastises the clergyman mildly. "Are you saying the church lied?"

I squeeze my eyes shut, realizing my gaffe. "No," I answer weakly. "I didn't mean that."

When I open my eyes again, Draclau has turned his attention to the rest of the party. He's already forgotten me, I can see. That strikes me as odd; it's like he was just mouthing the words when he rebuked me just now. Like it was something he was expected to do, but really didn't care about.

How odd. I suppose a man in his position is allowed his quirks, but still.

Ovelia shifts, clearing her throat. "Long ago," she recalls, "when the land was much different, twelve brave warriors fought against the evil Lucavi who ruled the land. After a desperate battle, they sent Lucavi to Hades, and the land was peaceful. They each had crystals with zodiac signs on them, they were called 'Zodiac Braves.' Ever since then, whenever humans are attacked, the Braves come to save us."

"You're quite learned, Princess," remarks Draclau. "Just as I expected."

Learned? For reciting a fairy tale? Now it seems like he's mocking someone of royal blood. I can feel my opinion of him starting to shift.

"Mr. Simon taught me at Orbonne Monastery," explains Ovelia pleasantly, perhaps unaware of what everyone thinks of the Brave Story. "He also said St. Ajora and the Braves saved Ivalice from chaos."

Draclau gazes at her, dark eyes glittering. "We call the crystals 'Holy Stones.' This very stone," he gestures at the sparkling thing on the table, "is the legendary secret stone, the 'Zodiac Stone.'"

Ovelia frowns, lips pursed. "I didn't think it really existed," she answers finally.

I can only nod faintly in agreement. If the Stones are real... wait, how did the Cardinal get one? If he has one, then that would explain why he can talk about destroying Bart Company with so little concern. Still, he doesn't have to be rude about it.

"They say its 'divine power' surpasses Lucavi's," muses the Cardinal as he stares at the glittering ruby. "I feel a strange power, but it looks just like an ordinary crystal to me."

Ramza glances at the mechanic beside him. "What's wrong, Mustadio? You look pale."

Draclau eyes the ponytailed fellow sharply as well. "You saw the same stone underneath Goug?" His voice, though still quiet, now has a subtly different tone I can only qualify as... intense.

"Many broken machine parts are buried there," explains Mustadio hoarsely. "But if the stone gets near the machines, they start to howl."

The Cardinal nods. "Bart Company's after the stone, right?"

Mustadio sighs tiredly. "I don't know what power the stone has, but Rudvich wants to use its power to make weapons. My father told me never to give the stones to him. So they abducted him."

A stone in Goug, and one with the Cardinal. After centuries of obscurity, it seems like they're popping up all around. I find myself wondering where the others are, and who might already have found them.

"Don't worry, Mustadio," urges Draclau. "The church will see to his safety. While our men fight, we'll get the stone back."

"Y... yes, sir," answers the young man. He seems as surprised as I feel. What's the Cardinal going to do with two stones?

Suddenly Ramza steps forward. "I'll go to Goug with you," he decides.

Mustadio inclines his head. "Thank you, Ramza."

He's leaving. I've come to enjoy his company, and now he's leaving. Still, it's a good reason to go to Goug; holy stones don't just pop up every day, and the mechanic's father is still at risk.

I smile faintly at my fluttering thoughts and step forward as well. I'm no good at lying, so I never really do, and I don't now. "We made it this far thanks to you, Ramza." I'm going to miss talking with you in the evenings, young knight.

"I wish I could have been more help," laments Ovelia quietly beside me. Her voice is soft, worried. "Please be careful." She sounds for all the world like a mother whose son is running off to war.

"That's very thoughtful," replies Ramza, a mellow smile on his face. He's genuinely not worried, I realize. He must be mad. "Don't worry. We'll be fine."

"Have a safe journey," implores the Cardinal gravely, putting the glittering holy stone back inside his robes. "May St. Ajora guide your steps."

Ramza and Mustadio bow to the holy man. I do likewise, aware of Ovelia offering a slight curtsy, as between respectful equals.

As we leave the office, on our way back up to our rooms, Mustadio is the first to break the silence between the four of us. "That was strange," he remarks quietly. "I had thought... he seemed very helpful."

I nod, frowning. It's not that I want to complain, but I'm almost suspicious of how helpful Draclau was, as though he were just mouthing whatever promises he had to, in order to get Mustadio away and keep us happy. Well, we'll see. Perhaps my suspicions are unwarranted.

"Will you be returning to Lionel Castle?" asks Ovelia of Ramza as we're walking through the stark stone hallways.

The young man glances at her, and then for some reason at me, before answering. "I'd... like to," he admits. "If everything seems okay in Goug, and Mustadio's father is safe, there won't really be a reason for me to stay there." He says this last to Mustadio, a hint of question in his voice.

"That's true," grins the other fellow. "Unless you want to become a mechanic. You'd probably be a good one."

Ramza flushes at the praise. "I don't have the patience," he sighs, and he is probably correct. "But anyway, we'll see."

The mechanic nods, and no one speaks again as we are ascending through the castle. As we near our rooms I pause in front of Ovelia's door, then glance at the men. "Ramza."

He stops, glancing at me, while Mustadio continues on towards his own room. "What?"

I jerk my head sideways, summoning him inside with me as the three of us enter the Princess's suite. He silently obeys, advancing all of five steps before Alicia and Lavian are there, blocking us.

"How did it go?" wonders Alicia excitedly. "You're still alive, I see."

"Is he going to help?" adds Lavian.

"Cardinal Draclau was more than helpful," I explain, leaving my tone flat. The other women nod, knowing I'll explain more later. Before continuing, however, I glance back behind me to make certain the heavy oaken doors are closed, then I eye my knights. "Ramza is going to Goug with Mustadio," I state quietly. "I want you two to accompany them."

The Gallionian twitches, and my knights blink. "Why?" wonders Alicia bluntly. "What about the Princess? I assume you're both staying here?"

"We are," I nod, "but we're in a castle. This place is as safe as any; our wits are our defenses here, not our blades." That's partly true; Lionel Castle is so well-defended that any threat to Ovelia must necessarily come from within it, from the Cardinal and his people. If he wants to throw the entire might of Lionel at us, not to mention a damn _holy stone_, then part of me can admit frankly that Alicia and Lavian are not going to swing the balance of the battle. Even I probably won't. They can, however, be useful to Ramza and Mustadio; if there's fighting against Bart mercenaries, two extra swords will be of more help there than sitting idle in Lionel.

The women hesitate. "Is that okay, Ramza?" asks Lavian.

He shrugs and nods. "I'll be glad for the company."

I poke Lavian's shoulder to get her attention again, then include Alicia in my gaze. "Cardinal Draclau has a holy stone," I announce quietly. "One of the Zodiac Braves."

They stare at me wordlessly. Finally Alicia giggles nervously, clearly in disbelief.

"It's true," I insist, aware of Ramza and Ovelia nodding confirmation. "The reason Bart Company's after Mustadio is because he has one, or perhaps his father has it. I'm not sure. Anyway, the Cardinal is going to have his men retrieve the stone. I want you to see what happens there, what they do, and then report back to me." At their uncomfortable expressions, I elaborate. "Not all threats to the royal family come in the form of an assassin's blade."

Two sets of eyes widen at my implication, but the knights are professionals. They nod.

I turn to Ramza. "When are you leaving?"

The young man shrugs again. "As soon as we're ready, I think. It shouldn't be too long."

I nod. "Let me know before you go."

"I will," he vows. As he heads out into the hallway, the knights trot into the other room to prepare, though I suspect there's little for them to do.

Ovelia gives me a weak smile. "This is all kind of scary," she admits.

I turn a questioning expression on her. "And getting kidnapped by Delita wasn't?"

She laughs softly. "Well, yes. But this... this business with the Zodiac Braves... it's something different."

I smile at her. "I suppose it is."

In moments the knights have returned, followed shortly by the two men. They travel so lightly, I note, that Mustadio is the only one who even has a backpack, though the others do carry belt pouches and potion sacks. Ovelia gives every one of them a parting hug, murmuring words of farewell, while I content myself with a friendly nod for the men and nothing for the women; I know they'll be back here shortly regardless. Mustadio makes an effort to shake my hand, and Ramza favors me with a smile as they are departing.

I hate saying goodbye. It's just another reason to avoid complications.

Eventually they leave, and I stare at the closed door for a few moments, thinking about the sudden silence behind it. I like silence, really -- I prefer it over conversation, most of the time -- but now it saddens me. Perhaps I've grown accustomed to having a gaggle of chattering young people around.

The sound of slippers on carpet announce Ovelia approaching my side. "It seems so quiet in here, now," she remarks softly.

I turn to give her a slight smile. "I was just thinking that."

The Princess giggles at me. "We're free to roam the Castle, the Cardinal said. Do you want to walk around for a while?"

Her choice of words strikes me as odd. Where she says, 'we're free to roam the Castle,' I would have said, 'we're confined to the Castle.' Once again I'm reminded that most of her life has been spent in the gilded cage of monastery walls; she's used to being cooped up in a building. She expects it, like a chocobo that's been kept in a pen so long it's afraid to leave it.

I nod, feeling pity for the girl as we step out into the hallway. Then again, who knows what she feels for me? Perhaps sorrow for being so aloof, or for having spent so much time inflicting and being around violence. Perhaps she prefers her life over mine. The shadows differ depending on where you stand, I suppose.

We end up spending the entire rest of the day walking around the Castle. While Ovelia spent most of that time admiring the beauty of the stark structure, I made careful note of its defensive features, strengths and weaknesses alike. I suppose I'll do more of this; it's not like there will be much else to do while we're here.

When we eventually get back to the guest rooms, for the second night in a row I drag a pile of blankets into Ovelia's suite and plant myself in her sitting room; any intruder intending to harm her, either by coming straight in or using the conjoined room, will have to get past me to do so.

After bidding the heiress good night, I lay down in my makeshift bed and stare at the dark ceiling far above. Though my sword and shield are in easy reach, something still feels out of place, so I frown. Maybe I'm still feeling lonely.

This is a new thing for me, and I don't entirely like it. I have to be self-sufficient. The degree to which I am not is the degree to which my duties are imperiled.

Sleep is a long time in coming tonight. What dreams I have, I don't remember.

The next day passes in its entirety without incident. I spend a great deal of time with Princess Ovelia, walking about the Castle and occasionally chatting about little things, though the latter occurs only by her initiative. The only thing of even mild interest to happen was that Cardinal Draclau found us in a hallway and exchanged brief small talk before departing; I have the feeling that he doesn't want Ovelia to think she's been forgotten.

Our third day in Lionel passes almost exactly as the second had, and the fourth does likewise. On the fifth day, at one point as Ovelia and I are walking, I glance back and notice a pair of gold-armored Shrine Knights staring after us in silence. Though this is not remarkable -- in a place run by Glabados Church, Shrine Knights are bound to be present -- I spare them a frown before continuing. They don't bother us, though, so I promptly put them out of my mind.

After a week, my hands are itching and my feet are twitching. I'm not used to be idle for so long. At least, I reflect, it wouldn't be nearly so bad if we were just relaxing, instead of trapped in the castle of a man of dangerous power, waiting for word to arrive from High Priest Funeral himself.

The eighth day passes, and then the ninth, and I find myself starting to wonder. How long does it take word to travel to Murond and back? Seriously? It's not that far away; a fast chocobo and a good ship should have been able to return some response by now. The High Priest certainly seems to be taking his sweet time.

Immediately I chastise myself for such a disrespectful thought. High Priest Funeral is certainly a busy man, and if he wants to deliberate on what to do with Ovelia, that is his right. It's not like I need to be in such a hurry for something to happen.

I wonder what Ramza is doing. And Alicia and Lavian and Mustadio. Did they make sure the mechanic's father was safe? Or, perhaps, have they all been killed? I have no way of knowing.

This just adds to my gnawing impatience. At least I'm able to keep it from affecting my conversations with Ovelia; the girl is so sweet I'd feel terrible if I snapped at her over some completely unrelated worry.

On the tenth day, Cardinal Draclau surprises us by knocking on the suite doors. I open them, then offer a respectful bow. "What is it, Cardinal?"

The big man's gaze slides right past me to rest on the startled Ovelia. "I would speak with you, Princess," he rumbles, "if you are free."

Ovelia smiles. "Of course I'm free, Cardinal. What is it you want to address?"

"Not here, I would think," answers the holy man, gesturing vaguely about as though suspicious of... of eavesdroppers, perhaps, or spies. "Come with me."

As the girl nods, the castle's ruler steps out into the hall, where a pair of knights, perhaps Knight Blades, are waiting for him. Ovelia follows the Cardinal, as do I.

Before moving, Draclau turns his stony gaze on me for the first time today. "You are not needed, Agrias," he explains quietly. "I merely wish to discuss some matters with the Princess."

I glance at Ovelia before answering him firmly. "The Castle is potentially a dangerous place. My orders from St. Konoe were to protect her." In other words, Cardinal, I don't trust you, and you don't have the authority to keep me away.

The round man shrugs, apparently unconcerned. "As you please." Without another word he turns and begins shuffling down the hallway, flanked by the Knight Blades. The Princess and I follow silently.

Long moments pass as we walk through the massive Castle. Our host says nothing, and neither Ovelia nor myself sees fit to speak first. Downward we go, past several floors below ours and then even the ground itself, as we head into whatever subterranean spaces the structure boasts.

Eventually the chill of the earth begins to push aside the warmth of the Lionel air and I begin to frown. This is an odd place for a conversation, to be sure. Unless I miss my guess, shouts or screams from down here will never reach the light of day above.

As I am about to ask the Cardinal his intentions, he stops next to a door, perhaps a storage room or its like. The holy man grips the handle and opens it.

A half-dozen or so Lionel knights file out of the room, and I watch them with increasing suspicion. This is too much, too out of the ordinary. I grip my sword hilt, preparing to draw.

Draclau addresses one of the men. "Let Prince Larg know everything went as planned, and begin preparations for the execution at Golgorand."

Steel whispers from a scabbard somewhere, and I realize with shock that I've drawn my weapon against a Cardinal. My surprise lasts only a heartbeat, however; he ranks well, but he is only a provincial ruler, whereas I answer to the royal family. It is technically within my rights to have him put to the question for this, not that I would do so in any case. "What is this?" I demand. "Explain yourself." Ovelia has hands to her mouth, glancing about in fear.

The Cardinal's dark eyes gaze at me with as much expression as he might give a chair. "Kill Agrias, while you're at it," he adds to the knights. "She's in the way." He turns to leave back the way we came.

The knights draw their weapons. Ovelia screams. I attack.

These men are not my match, but there are six of them to my one, and I must protect Ovelia as well. After unleashing a quick Stasis Sword, I back off, trying to shield the Princess with my body while preparing a protection spell. I can hear her chanting behind me as well, reminding me that Simon taught her some of the white arts.

As a sword blow rattles my shield arm, my spell goes off, protecting myself and Ovelia in ethereal white light. She finishes her spelll as well, but I can't see what happens because I'm paying too much attention to the men who want to kill me. The Princess quickly begins chanting again.

A Crush Punch instantly kills the knight nearest myself and Ovelia, and I back off again, forcing the others to advance over the body. The Princess finishes her spell, and I can feel the gentle touch of her will wrapping around me. I feel alive, more alive than ever, and the men in front of me seem to move as though they're underwater, slowly and weakly. No, I realize quickly; it's _me_ who's moving _faster_.

Nice. Thank you, Princess.

Another Stasis Sword kills two more of the men, and I rush into their midst; they've been ordered to kill me, so any distance I can put between all of us and Ovelia is a good thing. A stray sword strikes me in the back of one leg and I grit my teeth, trying not to limp.

Before long, the combination of the knights' lack of skill and my own speed leaves the hallway full of corpses. As the last man falls, I turn to verify that the Princess is still unharmed, then begin to cure my own injuries. Quickly, however, I stop; the wounds are gone. Another quirk of her spell, then.

"Let's go," I suggest. "We need to get out of the Castle." I ache to race up through the place to find Draclau and confront him, but my duty is to get Ovelia out of her safely. The Cardinal will answer for his betrayal later.

Ovelia nods, clearly frightened. I grip her hand and we set down the hallway, following the Cardinal but taking our time, not trying to catch up. We'll need to be running later, but for now, no one one knows about what's happened, so we can conserve our strength.

We meet no one at all on the way back up to the surface. After stepping out of the stairways, however, a group of guards notices us and gapes. Abruptly I recall that my sword is out, that there is blood splattered across it and my armor. Damn it.

"H--hey!" shouts one of the men. They all draw weapons and run at us.

"Absorb power in the sky and strike!" I whisper, feeling goosebumps prickle my arms and neck. "Lightning Stab!" Like a drumroll, bolts of lightning flash into the approaching guards, scattering charred and broken bodies all around. Only one of the men is still alive afterwards, and he is on his knees, wobbling. As we dart past, I kick him in the head and he drops.

I steal a backwards glance at the Princess and find that her face is a silent mask of terror. At least she's running, though.

Twice more on our way to the gates do we run into groups of men. These fellows are just hapless bystanders on guard duty inside the Castle, most barely more than boys. I feel bad killing them, but they are trying to take the Princess from me and give her to a man who's planning her execution, so they have to die.

Eventually we make our way to the castle gate. The guards there, accustomed to watching for intruders coming in from outside, don't notice us right away. I see a man stationed at the portcullis lever and attack him with a Lightning Stab.

The man, curse him, doesn't die, though he does stagger. Instantly the other guards notice us, the rumbling thunder of my attack having alerted them, and they begin to shout, unlimbering weapons. Shouts also drift out from inside the castle proper now; they'll catch us soon, but we're almost out. So close.

Before the man at the lever can react, I hack at his neck and he falls. It takes both of my arms to move the damn thing, but it moves, and soon the gate mechanism rumbles into action, lifting the gate. Ovelia is whimpering now, wringing her hands and glancing all around as men rush out of the castle after us.

"Come on!" I hiss, grabbing one of her hands again and drawing her after me. We make it through the gate a few paces ahead of the running guards.

Suddenly a sharp pain pierces my left calf and I stumble, cursing. The archers on the wall, then. As I slow, an armored man plows into me from behind and we both go sprawling. I lose my grip on Ovelia's hand and almost on my sword as well.

Ovelia's scream cuts across the clanking metal chaos in front of the gate. Grimacing, I roll on the ground, trying to grapple with the man who tackled me. He's strong and he's heavy, but I manage to lever my sword between us and use it to pry him away. From there, two quick strikes of the hilt into his skull turn him limp.

I scramble to my feet just as another man bowls into me, but this time I stay upright. I slide backwards, boots scuffling along the stony ground, and lash out with another Lightning Stab. It hits three men, killing one, but two more leap over the fallen man's body. There are too many.

"Let _go_ of me!" shouts Ovelia angrily; I can barely see flashes of her white dress as she struggles against a knight who's holding her. Another appears from somewhere nearby and grabs one of her arms. "Agrias!"

"I'm here!" I answer distractedly, facing the four men who are now circling me warily. Haven't they learned yet? They can't keep their distance if they want to live. I wound one and kill another with a Lightning Stab. "I'm coming!"

She screams again, and I can hear her flailing against someone's steel breastplate. Her voice seems to move, and I realize they are carrying her back within the castle. More men continue to rush outside; there are some two dozen now. There's no way I'm going to survive this, I decide.

Growling, I summon another attack against the men and drop two more, there are still way too many. Several rush me, blades whirling, and I hold them off as best I can while also trying to evade the arrows raining down from above. Two of the latter strike me, one in the shoulder and another in the side.

Ovelia is screaming constantly now, expelling all of her breath in one shriek before inhaling deeply to do it again. From how her voice moves I can tell they've gotten her inside the gate. Soon the thing begins to rumble downward again.

They've got her. I can't get in there, not through all these men. Well, that just means I'll have to break in later, or maybe intercept her on the way to Golgorand, if that's really where they're going. "Don't worry, Princess Ovelia!" I shout over the walls while a trio of knight blades seek my flesh. "I'll free you before they can kill you!"

Batting back the swords, I summon a Lightning Stab where I myself am standing; the attack leave me completely unharmed but scatters my attackers. In the instant of respite I have, I turn and run. The men won't catch me, not into the hills.

Voices shout after me into the rocky terrain nearby, and I can hear a few men following, but even with three arrows in me I run well. After a while they give up. Ovelia's fading screams haunt me.

Some time later, I collapse to my knees, panting heavily. I had her. I had her and then I lost her. I failed, again. It's true, there wasn't much I could do against the combined forces of Lionel, but that doesn't negate my failure.

So. Even the Princess is just a piece on someone's chessboard after all. As am I. I'd like to think I'm a rook or at least a knight, but I suspect I'm just someone's pawn. For which color, though? The White Lion or the Black? The game of kings, indeed.

Sighing as my breath returns, I shift about and begin pulling arrows out of me so I can cure the injuries they made. The Cardinal will send teams out to hunt me, I know, once he finds out I'm not dead yet -- he can't leave the only witness to his betrayal alive -- but I have some time. Enough time to plan quickly.

Will they actually bring her to Golgorand, or just kill her in Lionel Castle? I suspect the former, if only because they could have done the latter already. Also, there is a dark sense of irony in Glabados Church killing one of its own students at the site where St. Ajora himself was executed. Perhaps I will be able to save Ovelia again there. Certainly it would be easier than breaking into Lionel Castle.

Lips tight, I drop the three arrows on a nearby rock and invoke a spell to heal myself. It's time to be gone from here. Standing up, I spend a moment gaining the measure of the terrain nearby, then begin walking.


	5. Chapter 5: Beautiful Places

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy Tactics or any of the characters therein. I am using them without permission and will cease to do so if asked. Please don't sue.

* * *

Chapter Five: Beautiful Places 

I shuffle along the riverbank. Every now and then I try to move faster, but all I can manage is a sort of lurching jog.

I haven't slept since I left Lionel. Haven't eaten. Haven't stopped moving.

This place is beautiful. Rocks, the stream, the green and rocky hills. It's like a damn garden, some lord's hunting preserve. Does the quail feel better for falling in a place of great beauty? Does the arrow hurt less, does the helpless anger burn any less fiercely? I should think not.

"I found Chang!" shouts a man's voice indistinctly behind me. "She must be over this way!"

The lord of the manor has even sent his prized hounds into the preserve to hunt me. Their baying grows steadily louder, more frenzied in eager anticipation of the final chase, of snapping at panicked and running flanks.

I've lost track of the fights I've been in today, the number of people I've killed in small-scale battles. The last group had riders, archers on chocobo. That was rough. I think I managed to kill all of the birds, at least, so they couldn't chase after me, but they've found me awfully quickly again. Maybe I just imagined it.

"I found a footprint!" calls another voice, closer now. "She's over here!"

Once again I try to move faster, and my legs cooperate for a time, but I can't keep it up. My throat feels rough, like a file, and my legs feel as though they're made of the same metal that covers them. One step after another. Green wildgrass whispers under the breeze, flattens under my boots. They'll be able to track me here. Why did I come this way? I can't think straight.

"Where are you?" bellows a male voice from somewhere nearby, behind me. "Don't try to escape!"

I keep running. The water at my side; it makes at least one direction from which they can't attack me. Green moss clinging to the jagged rocks of the riverbank. There's hills all around; should I go up one to see better? No... no, I need the water by me. I decided that just now and had already forgotten.

If my father could see me now, would he be disappointed? Perhaps I'll ask him in a few moments when I meet him.

As I look back, I see a red-cloaked Lionel knight appear on a hill. "So here you are!" he calls in triumph. "Give yourself up!" Summoned by his voice, the other hounds appear as well, stalking forward menacingly, weapons at the ready.

I'm so tired I don't even say anything back. I just stop and wait, hands on my sword hilt. They'll come to me and then I can start killing again.

Suddenly the knight jerks in surprise, staring past me. "What?" His companions frown in that direction as well, suddenly uncertain.

Despite myself I turn around to look. Then I slump. Perhaps it's only my condition, but I feel like crying in happiness.

"I'm protecting Agrias!" shouts Ramza loudly. "Geronimo!" Who the hell says "Geronimo?" I've missed him.

He's got other people with him now, besides Alicia and Lavian. There's a knight I don't recognize and a female thief. Somewhere more distant, beside Mustadio, I recognize a wizard's pointy hat and another fellow who looks to be a monk. Who are they? Where did they come from?

Screaming sounds from all around, but mostly from Ramza, as the two sides rush to meet each other in the middle. That is to say, around me. As soon as I can shake myself enough to unleash a Crush Punch on a Lionel archer, I glance over at Ramza who has fallen in by my side. "Ramza!" I greet hoarsely. "Why are you here?"

"I was going to attack the castle flank to save you," he explains casually, ducking under a swing from a knight. "But... why are you here?"

"The Cardinal secretly plotted with Larg from the start!" I answer tersely. "We tried to escape but only the Princess got caught! I couldn't save her. They're about to execute her. We must hurry!" I clamp my mouth shut before I can get any more shrill.

Ramza nods at the people trying to kill us. "First, we have to get rid of them somehow," he notes dryly. Then he stares past me, hazel eyes narrowing. Striking a powerful stance, he punches directly at my midsection, but I hear crunching metal and grunt of pain from behind me.

Wait, he's a _monk_ now? When did that happen?

Shaking my head, I turn and attack the knight who'd been trying to sneak up on me. The man falls with a strangled cry. On the other side of the stream, I can see Ramza's people engaging another pair of Lionel hounds.

A swirl in the battle brings Ramza to my side again. "Cheer up, Agrias," he grins. "We'll get to Princess Ovelia in time!"

His smile is infectious, and I feel myself starting to return it. Suddenly it doesn't seem so impossible, now that there are other people willing to help me.

Facing an unexpected shift in odds, the Lionel men and women fight desperately, and we make short work of them. As the bodies begin turning into pure crystals, Ramza turns to face me, an expression of concern on his face. "Are you all right, Agrias?" he asks, clearly doubtful.

I smile to lessen his worry. "Yes, I'm alright, but we must hurry! She's going to be executed at the Gologrand Execution Site. Let's hurry!"

He nods. "Yes. Let's go!"

Suiting action to words, I begin trotting along the riverbank once more, but Ramza only watches me. After a dozen steps or so, I wobble and fall to my knees. Damn it.

"Agrias," he sighs, "you can barely walk." Shaking his head, he turns to the knight with him, a hard-faced fellow. "Hannibal, get Boco. She can ride." The knight nods and jogs off towards the others.

I plant the tip of my sword in the ground and lean my forehead against the hilt for a moment before pushing myself to my feet. "Ramza, who are your friends? Where did they come from?"

"Oh." He steps to where I am, then slides an arm under my shoulders to help me walk. Despite a flash of anger, I accept his support gladly. "I fought with them in my... in my Hokuten days. After Fort Zeakden, I told them it was over, to find something elsewhere. I found a few of them again in Warjilis, though, and they wanted to help." He smiles.

I nod. Soon the knight, Hannibal, returns with Boco, and the two men help me into the saddle. I feel like a child, but there's no way I'd be able to do it myself right now, so I say nothing.

"So, you're Agrias," remarks Hannibal casually as the rest of the party draws near. "You're as pretty as Ramza says." Grunting a chuckle, he wanders off.

I blink, then turn a dark look on Ramza, but the man is only frowning after Hannibal. "Would you care to explain that?" I ask.

He turns his frown to me and remains silent for a moment. "No. Come on; I'll introduce you to the others."

Shaking my head, I heel Boco gently, following him to where the rest of the party is approaching. Though Ramza seems vaguely uneasy, he's not stammering the way I would have expected.

"Everyone," he calls once we're together, "this is Agrias Oaks of the Lesalia St. Konoe knights. She's Princess Ovelia's bodyguard." The others nod, waiting for him to continue, and then a realization strikes me: these aren't just people he fought with. He was their commander, and he is again. I can see it.

He turns to me and smiles again. "You've met Hannibal," he notes, gesturing at the knight, who nods. "That," he continues, pointing at the wizard, "is Strawberry. She doesn't say much."

"Charmed," offers Strawberry.

"This fellow," explains Ramza, gesturing at a cross-armed monk, "is Ironside. He's... well, he fights well." Ironside doesn't even blink as he stares at me. "That girl over there," continues Ramza, pointing at someone I assume to be a thief, "is Opal. She's nice." Opal smiles shyly at the compliment. "And you already know Alicia, Lavian and Mustadio, of course," he finishes.

"I do," I agree, edging Boco over to where my knights are smiling at me. "We'll talk on the road," I suggest to them quietly, and they nod.

"Agrias says Princess Ovelia is going to be at the Golgorand Execution Site," explains Ramza to the party, "so we'll head there. Let's go!"

As we begin moving, a handful of quiet conversations spring up between the party members. I immediately turn to the women beside me. "What happened?"

Alicia and Lavian exchange glances. Finally Alicia faces me. "Well, a lot. There were no Lionel troops in Goug, at all. We fought Rudvich's people there instead, and they got the stone, only it was a fake stone Mustadio made, not the real one, which he explained later, and then we realized that you and Ovelia were in danger in Lionel because Rudvich and the Cardinal were working together to get the stone, so now Mustadio is coming along with us to make sure it doesn't fall into the wrong hands. Oh, and I won at darts in Warjilis."

"Good," I answer, and she gives a low chuckle. Then I shake my head slowly. "I can't believe the Cardinal sold us out. A man of the cloth."

Lavian sighs. "A lot of people probably wouldn't hesitate to kill their own mothers to get a holy stone. I suppose the pious aren't any more immune to greed than the rest of us."

"Well, they should be," I mutter. "That's supposed to be why they're in the positions they have."

The knight shrugs and says nothing. Beside her, Alicia squints over at the stream, not paying attention at all.

I shift my grip on Boco's reins. The bird likes me; he doesn't try to buck or throw me, for which I'm grateful. I doubt I could handle it in my current condition.

After a moment I eye Lavian again. "How is it with the others here? What are they like?" I keep my voice low.

She turns pale blue eyes on me before gazing at the road ahead. "They're like Ramza," she decides. "Very intense. I don't know how long they fought together before, but I bet every one of them would cut off their own arm if they thought it would help what he's doing."

"Interesting." I frown. These people sound professional. Ramza must be at least a passable commander; why didn't I notice it before? I suppose I never really sized him up that way before. He just seems too young for me to have considered it. "Did he really say I was pretty?'

Lavian smiles at the road ahead. "He did. Hannibal asked."

"Oh." That's why? That's... that's good, then. Anything else would just be asking for trouble.

I glance around and study Opal for a time. She is the nearest of the others, and happens to be walking alone for the moment, apparently lost in thought.

After a moment she glances up at me, having sensed my gaze. I take the opportunity to guide Boco over to her. "Hello," I offer.

Opal smiles at me. She seems young, like Ramza does. "Hello."

I'm not great with small talk, and I'm probably even worse at it in my current state, so I dispense with it altogether. "I've never seen Ramza as a commander. What's it like working with him?"

The woman cocks her head, thinking. "He's more careful with us than he is with himself," she muses. "He once walked for three days on a broken leg without saying a word, just because we were low on potions and he made Ironside use those that remained."

I nod. While that's not strictly how a commander should behave, I've never met one who's any different. That's good. "Where do you know him from?"

Opal gives me an odd look, as though she can't believe I don't know already. "We went to the Academy together," she answers. "In Gariland."

"Ah," I acknowledge. Gariland. So he really is a noble, not that there was any doubt, or that it matters at all.

"It was weird," continues Opal thoughtfully, a fond smile on her face. "My family is much lower than his -- all of ours are -- but he doesn't care at all. He never has. That's so rare for someone of his stature."

I open my mouth to ask who his family is, but the words don't come out. I respect his privacy, I realize with faint surprise; he hasn't told me about his past, so I shouldn't pry. Opal would tell me if I asked her, I know, but I can't. I close my mouth, vaguely unsettled.

"And you?" asks Opal. "Alicia explained a little bit about how you met him, but I'm still not clear on it."

I nod. "The Hokuten were supposed to send me someone to help guard Princess Ovelia. That person turned out to be Gaff Gafgarion, who had Ramza and a fellow named Rad as muscle. When Delita kidnapped her from under our noses, it was Razma who insisted we help rescue her, though it wasn't in their contract. Later, the Hokuten had Gafgarion betray us, and Ramza fought him."

Opal smiles indulgently. "That sounds like him."

"So I've come to discover," I agree. "Thank you."

She nods her acknowledgement, and I shift back to ride beside Alicia and Lavian. They eye me in question, then return their attention to the road when it becomes clear I'm not going to say anything.

Every now and then I catch Lavian glancing sideways, studying Ramza discreetly. Once she catches me watching her and blushes faintly. I still feel as though I should keep an eye on her somehow, but for some reason it now seems unimportant. Draclau is going to kill Ovelia, and I'm worried about Lavian? She's a grown woman; she knows what she's about.

God. Why do I even worry about these things? My head starts to hurt at the insanity of it all, so I rest it against Boco's soft golden feathers in front of me. I just need to think, to relax for a moment and let my situation sink in. I need to...

A change in my movement startles me. Lifting my head groggily, I frown in surprise; it's getting dark out. I must have dozed.

Alicia has gripped Boco's reins, stopping the animal, and that's what woke me up. All around, the party is shrugging out of cloaks and backpacks, preparing to camp for the night.

I can't believe I fell asleep. Now, of all times, when we need to hurry to reach Golgorand. I hope Ramza had them march quickly today.

Thanking Alicia, I slip from the bird's saddle. I want nothing more than to drop in a pile and sleep more, but I force myself to wake up, even biting the inside of my cheek to flash away some of the fog in my head. I'd even keep travelling the rest of the night, if I thought it would help any.

Shaking my head, I turn to the nearest person from Ramza's party, which happens to be the wizard, Strawberry. "How do you do watches here?"

The robed woman pauses in the act of wiping travel dust from her staff and gazes at me for a time. I don't like the big hats wizards habitually wear; it makes it hard to read their eyes, which is probably why they wear such absurd things in the first place. "In sequence," she answers, returning her attention to her task.

I wait for more, then frown. "In what sequence?"

She shrugs without looking at me. "Whatever sequence Ramza calls out."

I see. "Thanks," I offer halfheartedly. The wizard does not reply. Rolling my eyes, I wander off and seek out Ramza.

The man is squatting his heels a short distance from where Ironside is making a fire. He looks up from rubbing down the unsaddled Boco and smiles at me. "Good morning."

"Very funny," I reply humorlessly. "What is the watch order?"

His smile fades and he simply stares at me, hazel eyes serious. "I'll go first," he answers finally. "Then we'll have Hannibal, Strawberry, Opal, Ironside and Mustadio. Lavian and Alicia have been choosing their own while you weren't here."

I feel my eyes narrow. "And when is my watch?"

He sighs, rising to stand upright. "You look like hell, Agrias. You should sleep the whole night."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I answer coolly. "I hope you won't be too disappointed when I don't."

Ramza scowls faintly, and it looks as though he is going to argue, but his features eventually soften into a chuckle. "Fine. I can't make you do anything. Would you like to share my watch with me?" Over near the fire, I see Ironside start watching us with expressionless eyes.

"That would be acceptable," I agree. "Let me find some food, first. I haven't eaten in... a while."

"Oh," he nods. "Right. Our supplies are..." He trails off, frowning around the forming campsite. "I'm not sure, really. Ask Opal."

Inclining my head politely, I turn and seek out the thief, only to find her sitting alone on a rock near the camp's edge, eating an apple. She smiles at my approach.

"Ramza said you knew where the food was," I begin without preamble. "Do you?"

The thief nods, swallowing a chunk of apple and gesturing to a few packs on the ground in front of her. "In there," she answers. "There's nothing fancy, just field rations and some fruit. People just take what they need."

"Thank you." I squat, rummaging through the supplies until I find what looks like salted venison and a pouch of blueberries. I grab some of the meat and dump some of the little fruits into my hand. It will be an odd combination, likely, but it could be much worse.

Quietly tearing off a bite of the dried meat, I find my way to the fire, which is just now taking off under Ironside's ministration. The man watches my approach, then offers a slight bow, eyes downcast. He says nothing.

I return the gesture, then sprawl near the fire. Twigs crackle and glow, sending smoky fingers to the purpling heavens, where a handful of stars have begun to appear. After few more bites, I turn to nod at the man across the fire from me. "Why were you watching me talk to Ramza?"

Ironside seems to consider my question as though it possesses depths I wasn't aware of. "Hannibal is a man who speculates much," he explains finally.

I conceal a sigh, wondering why it is that monks never seem to speak directly. "What do you mean?"

The man gazes at me mutely, then shifts his attention to where the rest of the party is still unlimbering armor after a day of travelling. "He has already tried flirting with your knights," explains the monk quietly.

What kind of answer is that? "So you think he'll try the same with me? I don't understand."

Ironside smiles, a small private smile he directs at his lap. After a few moments, though, he lifts his gaze to the sky above. "I think the sky is prettiest at dusk," he remarks wistfully. "It is the moment when day and night are in harmony. Opposing forces should balance, don't you think?"

Now he's talking like an oracle. I nod anyway. "I suppose they should."

The man smiles as though he's made some obscure point, then retreats into a contemplative silence. I'm content to leave him that way as I finish eating. My eyelids still feel like they're made of lead, but I've resisted sleep before and I can do it again.

Eventually others join us around the fire, Mustadio and Opal first. I smile at the mechanic as he is settling into the hard ground near me. "I'm glad to hear your father is safe."

He returns my smile. "I am, too. Rudvich's people had him for a while, but he seems fine. I think they were just using him as leverage against me."

"I'm sorry," I answer. "I never would have suspected Bart Company would do something like that, but I suppose I haven't been to this part of the world much."

Mustadio shrugs mildly. "He's fine, and they'll leave him alone now, I would think. No harm done."

I chuckle silently at his ability to forgive. He's rather like Ovelia in that, I reflect.

Soon Strawberry approaches, followed by Hannibal, who pinches the wizard's backside through her robes. She, in turn, turns to punch him in the shoulder. Neither look very surprised; I suspect this is a sort of ritual they've been doing for so long they're just going through the motions now. When it's done, they both seat themselves about the fire.

"Ladies," greets Hannibal with a grin. There is no charm in his voice, false or otherwise; I suspect he's just this way to irritate the others.

"Mustadio and Ironside are male, Hannibal," sighs Strawberry irritably. Reaching forward, she plucks an unburnt stick from the fire and begins poking at it.

The knight shrugs. "I wasn't talking to them, was I?"

"Save it," advises Ironside companionably. "There is no fruit to be found in a frozen land."

Hannibal eyes the other man shrewdly. "Always so profound, you are. You didn't sound so deep when you found a mouse at the inn in Dorter that time." Ironside frowns at the knight, then shrugs.

These people are weird. I wonder how they came to be following Ramza about.

As though thinking his name were a summons, the party's commander appears from the shadows outside the fire's light, along with Lavian and Alicia. "I'm starting my watch," he declares. His eyes travel around the circle, meeting everyone's gaze in turn, though he lingers longer on me. "I'll wake you up in a couple of hours, Hannibal."

The knight smiles pleasantly. "Good. I love waking up."

Ramza nods as though this is a perfectly normal thing to say, then disappears back into the inky darkness. I feel compelled to follow him -- I have a number of questions he ought to answer -- but Ironside's cryptic words from earlier convince me to stay a while longer.

As my knights are settling into place with the rest of the party, I pull out my sword and begin tending to it, first with oilcloth to clean it from the day's wear, not to mention the battles. Later I'll run a whetstone along its edge.

"So, you're a Holy Knight?" asks Hannibal. The rest of the circle is silent but for the crackling of the fire.

I glance up at the knight, but there is no teasing in his eyes, no play in his voice. He's just a man asking a question. I nod. "I'm a captain in the St. Konoe imperial guard."

"I've never met one before," admits Hannibal. "It must be interesting, doing what you do."

I give him a tight smile. "Not so much as you'd think." Mostly it's either following chatty nobles around or fighting their enemies. I don't really feel like talking about it, lest I sound like I'm boasting.

Silence falls over the party like a smoky blanket. I continue to tend to my weapon, wiping the metal surface until reflected firelight glitters in it like glittering ruby shards. After one final inspection, I slide it back into its scabbard, satisfied.

For some reason everyone watches me as I climb to my feet. "A pleasant night to you all." Murmured farewells meet my words.

I try not to make much noise as I step outside the radius of the fire's light. Once out, I wait a moment to let my eyes grow accustomed to the darkness, then glance about, seeking Ramza. He won't have gone far, I suspect.

Shortly I find his shadowy figure seated on a log at the far end of our rocky site. I make my way to him, knowing he'll hear my approach. He doesn't move or acknowledge me until I'm right beside him, sitting down facing the other direction. I smile faintly, recalling the few nights we'd shared watches before; though that was only a couple of weeks past, for some reason it now seems like months ago.

"What happened at Lionel Castle?" he asks quietly. "Alicia says she told you what happened to us, but I haven't heard your side."

"Almost nothing at all happened," I answer in a mutter. My God, was it boring there. "At least until the end. Draclau invited Princess Ovelia on 'a walk,' and I accompanied them. He brought us underground, to a room filled with knights. He told them to take her and kill me, but we escaped. We made it all the way to the gate of the Castle and even outside, but there got too be too many of them, and they... they separated us, and took her back inside." My voice grows hoarse, so I stop there; the rest should be clear enough.

I still can't believe I failed her. Some bodyguard I am.

Warmth spreads from a place on my forearm. I glance up to see that Ramza has placed his hand there. He's touching me. "Don't worry, Agrias," he advises softly. "We'll get her back. They're not going to bring an army to escort her to Golgorand, so we shouldn't have any problems taking her back."

I nod absently at his words, but my attention is still fixated on his hand. I want him to move it, but for some reason my limbs won't let me brush it aside. Why not?

God. He's right; I shouldn't have bothered to stay up. I still can't think straight.

Eventually Ramza removes his hand and I try not to sigh in relief. He doesn't say anything.

What did I come here to ask him about, again? "I... didn't know you were a commander," I note quietly. "Frankly, you never really seemed like one, before, but now I'm given to understand you've fought with these people for a while."

Ramza shifts uncomfortably. "Well, Gafgarion was so loud and demanding, it was easy just to do whatever he wanted. I suppose I got used to it. Now, with some of my old friends around, I'm... kind of falling back into how I used to be, I suppose."

I nod. "I can see that. Also... I wanted to thank you for helping me back in the Valley. You didn't have to do that. Now that you've fought Lionel troops, you've probably an enemy out of Draclau. Don't you have enough already? Although," I pause, reflecting, "I suppose none of those who saw your face lived. You might be safe, yet."

He starts grinning halfway through my speech, but kindly lets me finish. "Does it matter? I'm going to fight them again at Golgorand."

For a moment I just stare at him, then smile tiredly. "You're right, I suppose."

The young commander nods, glancing back into the night. "I've stopped worrying about gathering new enemies. It would be awfully hard to go on if I did. Anyway, why wouldn't I fight to save you? I like having you around."

My smile grows wider at his openness. Perhaps it's just the weariness affecting me, putting cracks in some of my walls, but I feel his admission deserves one of my own. "I like being around you, as well." He's a friend, right? It's okay to say things like that to a friend.

Without looking around I can feel his smile. It's like the sun on my face.

I can't remember what else I was planning to ask him, and for whatever reason I don't care. I don't speak again, and neither does he.

Ramza has to nudge me awake at the end of the watch, and I give him a brief smile of thanks as I stand. Leaden legs carry me to an open spot on the ground near the smoldering fire, and I begin the process of removing my armor. Metal plates thump hollowly into the ground, and in moments I've curled up under my cloak. Sleep takes me immediately.

* * *

Opal toes me awake just as dawn is kissing the eastern horizon. Before I even rise, I spend a moment stretching, letting my back arch off the hard ground before falling again. Happily, my head has cleared overnight, leaving me alert and as functional as ever. 

Rolling to my feet, I begin armoring up, a morning ritual. Quiet conversation sounds from the other end of the camp, where Ramza and Hannibal are discussing something; given how the knight is pointing off the southwest, I suspect their topic is the day's journey.

In moments we've loaded the common supplies onto Boco and have started to move. Unlike when I've travelled with Ramza before, this time he leads, allowing Hannibal and Ironside to bring up the rear. I fall in near the front with Alicia and Lavian, and from time to time behind me I can hear Mustadio and Opal engaging in brief bouts of small talk.

The sun rises behind us, casting long wet shadows down the road, such as it is. On either side of us, sunlight glitters like tiny gems in ten thousand dew drops dotting verdant leaves and needles. The chatter of birds and hidden animals sounds oddly inappropriate on a day when we are to fight at the place where Saint Ajora himself was executed. Sometimes God's creatures have no sense of decorum.

Some time around midmorning, Ramza glances back over his shoulder, a frown of thought on his face. "Agrias?"

I eye him in question, then take the cue to advance to where he's walking. "What?"

"What do you know of the execution site? None of us have been there."

"I haven't been there either," I admit; it's not something passersby go out of their way to see. "From what I've read, it's a fairly open place, not very defensible. At least, the records describe tens of thousands of people coming to see St. Ajora's execution, so there can't be much in the way of walls to keep us out."

Ramza nods beside me, his face creased in the same pondering calculation I saw there when we played chess. "How would you attack it?"

"I would split into two teams," I decide, thinking on my feet. "Make them scramble to keep us out. You don't want to atack from opposing sides, not unless the place is huge, so I'd say maybe the north and east sides. We'll have to see what the layout is first, though. Right?"

"I would think so," he agrees. "What... what kind of forces do they even bring to events like this? What kind of enemies can we expect to face?"

I shrug. "Who knows? They don't use the place very often. I suspect we can expect a fairly balanced party, though: knights, archers and maybe a couple of spell-slingers. At least, that's what I would take with me in their place."

He spares me a sidelong glance I can't read. "You've seen a lot of fighting," he notes. "I'm glad we found you yesterday."

"I'm glad you found me, too," I add, keeping a straight face. "Otherwise you'd never have found me again."

Ramza smiles at the road ahead of us. "How do you think we should split up the teams?"

I eye him, then frown in thought. "Each group should have someone fast and someone strong. Bring at least one spellcaster... though we just have Strawberry, don't we? I don't think it matters which team she's in. Whichever puts her in less danger, I suppose."

"You and I are probably the strongest," he reflects. "Possibly you and Ironside." He falls silent as we walk, perhaps waiting for something.

I sigh, wondering how to approach the topic. "Ramza... apart from me, everyone here has been taking orders from you for over a week, now. They're comfortable with it. So, until we rescue Princess Ovelia, I can do likewise. I don't want to have to plan out fights with two commanders butting against one another."

He has the grace to tun faintly red. "Agrias, I don't feel comfortable giving you orders. You're... you're Agrias."

His discomfiture eases what had otherwise been a bleak concession for me, and I smile slightly. "Then give me suggestions," I shrug. "My goal is just to get Ovelia back; how that happens, I don't care."

Ramza nods, still apparently uncomfortable but able to accept what I've said. "Then... I think you and I should be in different teams today. I can take Ironside and Strawberry, and you can go with... whom?"

I spare him a dark glance. "I don't know your people well enough to say. Instead I'd probably take Alicia and Lavian. We'll see how practical that will be when we get closer."

He nods again. Silence falls between us, and on a whim I remain up at the lead of the little column with him. Partly this is because I do enjoy his conversation, but mostly I want to see what he'll do.

After a time I can feel him giving me the occasional glance. Feeling petty for playing such a game, I ignore them for a while before meeting his gaze once. Rather than the irritation I'd expected on his face, I instead see an uncomfortable curiosity.

It's so easy to put him off-balance. I don't know if I like that.

Smiling anyway, I drop back to walk with my knights. Midday comes and goes without Ramza calling a halt to eat. I give him a mental nod for this; fighting on a full stomach is a bad idea.

"There," declares Opal suddenly from behind me. "I can see the banner through the trees."

The party shuffles to a stop. I glance back at the woman, then follow her pointing finger. As she says, quick flashes of crimson are occasionally visible as the wind shifts tree branches about.

"Opal," says Ramza in a low voice, still gazing at the banner. "Check it out, please." The thief nods and disappears into the surrounding woods.

Worldlessly the rest of the party prepares for battle, loosening weapons, tightening armor straps and so on. Ironside begins hopping lightly in place, twisting his neck this way and that to crack it.

In moments Opal appears back with the party. "There are trees to cover us most of the way," she explains. "There's one main entrance on the north side that looks fairly narrow, and there's a wall above it where I saw a knight. The other sides are far more open; we should be able to attack there without any problems. One concern, though, is stealth. Bringing more than five or maybe six people will give us away early on."

Ramza grimaces. "We can't let them know we're here."

I nod. "If Ovelia isn't dead yet, they'll just kill her when they hear us."

"We need to hurry," agrees the young noble. "Ironside and Strawberry with me; we'll attack on the east side. Agrias is on the north, with..." He trails off uncertainly.

"With Alicia," I finish.

"...with Alicia," he concludes. "Let's go!"

Without waiting for another word I begin towards where we saw the banner, following the path I'd seen Opal take just moments ago, before the trees had obscured her. Before long I'm able to make out a brick-like structure flying a number of familiar red banners, though they look rather weathered; I doubt they get replaced much out here.

As Opal claimed, the north wall contains an archway of sorts, likely just wide enough for two people abreast. I suppose that's where I'll go with Alicia, then. Glancing aside, I can see Ramza and his others stepping lightly through the underbrush towards where the trees end some twenty paces ahead.

Reaching the edge of the woods, I hide myself behind the trunk of an oak and study the execution site as quickly as I can. There's a red-cloaked knight on the corner nearest me, but rather than keeping watch, he's staring as though bored at what's happening inside. God, I hope we're not too late. Though I suppose they'd all be gone now if we were.

Once again I peer through the trees to catch Ramza's eye. He nods slowly at me, tracing a finger across his neck in a gesture understood by people of all cultures and all times.

I nod back. Yes, it is that time.

Beckoning quickly to Alicia, I break for the gate in the northern wall, aware of the others doing likewise. The knight above hears us, finally, and bellows some warning to those below. Whatever happens, I can't see because of the wall, but in an instant Alicia and I are shouldering through the unguarded archway.

What greets us is a sight I've come to fear over the past days. On a small wooden platform in the site's center, a bound Ovelia is standing with her head down. A hooded executioner stands beside her, one hand raised as though he were speaking.

"That's far enough!" shouts Ramza from the east side. "Return the Princess, now!"

The executioner turns calmly to face him and begins to chuckle. "You fell into a trap!" he accuses. His voice is familiar, and Ramza jerks in surprise as the hood and robe come off. "You're still too naive, kid," declares Gafgarion. The fake Ovelia likewise removes her disguise, revealing an archer beneath.

Ramza is not intimidated. "Where is the Princess?"

"At Lionel Castle," explains the dark knight conversationally. "Where's the stone?"

Ramza hesitates, clearly nervous. "Stone?"

"Stop playing dumb," snaps Gafgarion. "The stone you stole from the Cardinal. You're with the one who stole it. Just hand it over!"

"If you want it," challenges Ramza, "you'll have to take it!"

The dark knight chuckles at this. "Seems you've matured a bit," he observes. "Then I will!" He draws his blade.

Ramza begins bolting towards Gafgarion. I leave him to it, instead sprinting towards a nearby ramp, intending to tackle whomever is up there. On the way, I pause to unleash a Crush Punch on a nearby archer.

"It's not too late!" calls Gafgarion from where they are battling. "Let's go back to Igros! Your brother, Dycedarg, said he'd forgive you! Come on, wake up!"

I stumble at this. Did I hear correctly?

"No!" counters Ramza hotly. "I won't be involved in any more wrongdoing!"

"'Wrongdoing?'" spits Gafgarion. He begins some new rant, and I tune them both out, instead concentrating on my ascent to the ramparts.

Shortly it occurs to me that they've stopped talking. I glance back to find the execution site a portrait of chaos. There are several bodies already, some smoking, and Ironside is limping badly as he trots to fight an archer on the west side. Ramza and Gafgarion have ranged farther towards the south now, and are battling there.

"Ramza, are you really a Beoulve?" I call, stepping over the smoldering body of a time mage to trade blows with a knight. It strikes me as hugely unprofessional to carry on such conversations in the middle of a fight, but he seems agitated enough to give me a straight answer.

Gafgarion laughs harshly. "Didn't you know, Agrias? His name is Ramza Beoulve. One of the Beoulve family."

"It's true I'm a Beoulve!" calls Ramza, his voice somehow both pleading and defiant, "but I'm not like my brothers! I never knew about kidnapping the Princess! I swear it!"

"No doubt in my mind!" I assure him. "I believe you."

My God. Here I've been thinking he's just some high noble, maybe someone who knew or courted Alma, but he's her damn brother. I've been wandering around in Lionel with a Beoulve.

In my distraction, the knight I'm fighting gets in a solid slash under my shield; steel bites into my side. Breathing heavily, I slide back on the balls of my feet and summon a Lightning Stab to finish off the knight and cripple the other time mage, who has Alicia moving as though through molasses.

As I'm running along the rampart towards the last time mage, a roar below catches my attention. Despite myself, I turn to look; I recognize that sound. Below, I see Ironside with his fist outstretched, a look of concentration on his face. In front of him stretches a line of shredded ground and splintered wood, ending where a bloodied Gafgarion is picking himself off the grass.

"Damn it!" shouts the dark knight, glancing around in furious frustration. "I didn't expect you to be this strong! Retreat for now!"

As the Lionel forces begin breaking in every direction, I try my best to follow, but I'm bleeding badly from the wound in my side, so I soon shuffle to a pained halt. The others are in little better condition, apparently, so Gafgarion and our few remaining enemies make it into the surrounding woods.

I fall to my knees. All the effort we put into getting here was just taking us farther away from Ovelia. Draclau misdirected me like a master.

"We must go to Lionel Castle immediately!" declares Ramza in a panic. No one argues.

After healing ourselves with potions and the crystals of the dead, we make it back to where the others are still waiting. Ramza quickly explains the situation to them, and in moments we are moving again, back the way we came.

There is little conversation as we travel; no one likes being duped. At least they don't seem to be blaming me.

Once night falls, Ramza calls a halt. We dine again on field fare and fruit; I end up eating nuts, venison and an apple, a rather well-rounded meal considering that we're nine people and a chocobo marching across rocky Lionel. As we're finishing up the quiet meal, Ramza calls off the watch order, the same as last night; also like last night, he does not see fit to include me. I now wonder if that means he'd rather have me talking with him during his watch. Or, I reflect, perhaps he genuinely wants me to sleep.

Well, if he expects me to sleep a full night while Ovelia's in hostile hands a half-day away, he's due for a surprise. I join him shortly after he wanders off to begin his watch. Tonight, there is no fire behind him.

Ramza says nothing as I draw out my sword and begin drawing a whetstone meticulously along its edge. Some people find the repetitive hiss annoying, but it doesn't seem to be bothering him. We're far enough away from the others that I don't think they'll hear it.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you who I was," he begins quietly after the moon begins to rise in the east. "At first I was just trying to run from complications, and then it seemed... no. No excuses. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

I shake my head. "If I had a name like yours, I'd try to keep it hidden too. At least, nowadays I would. Ten years ago, I'd have worn it with pride."

"And I did, then," he sighs. "But then... a couple of years can make a big difference."

I glance at him sideways, but he's just staring at the ground. The urge strikes to remind him that we're on guard duty, but I resist it. "What exactly happened at Fort Zeakden, Ramza?"

His face grows grim. "The Death Corps had captured Teta," he answers, speaking barely above a whisper. "Delita's sister. They thought she was a Beoulve, you see; I think they had confused her with Alma. Anyway, my group and I chased them to Fort Zeakden, but only Golagros was there, holding Teta hostage and telling us to go away. Algus... he was another cadet like myself, but I'd kicked him out because he was a... well, anyway, my brother Zalbag showed up there at the same time with Algus and the Hokuten. At Zalbag's command, Algus shot and killed Teta, then shot Golagros. Zalbag... told Algus to kill the rest of us next. Then he left. After we killed the Hokuten, Delita went to Teta, and that's when the fort exploded."

I bite my lips in concern. "I'm sorry, Ramza," I whisper, resting a hand on the shoulder nearest me. No wonder he thought his brothers might be enemies. I sure would, in his situation. God, what would I have done if anything like that had happened to me? Likely I'd have run off and gotten myself killed on a vengeance quest trying to find Zalbag. In that light, his decision to run away and put it behind him was itself an act of courage, I think.

He leans slightly towards me before straightening again, and I let my hand slip back to my side. "That's not even the whole of it," he continues. "In the battle... I think Delita must have gotten confused, or been driven mad, because he seemed to think I was one of them. We'd been searching for Teta together, but in the fight he threatened to kill me."

So you lost your brothers, your only friend and your name, all in one afternoon. You poor bastard, Ramza. "I suppose... I suppose this searching for Ovelia reminds you of that time, then," I speculate.

He shakes briefly in silent laughter. "Somewhat. Back then, we kept thinking we'd found her, and then she wouldn't be where we thought."

"Just like today," I finish dryly. "I certainly hope this mission ends better than that one."

Ramza chuckles softly. "I hope that too."

I smile for a moment at the sword in my lap, but the expression soon fades. "Ramza?"

"Yes?"

I hesitate, uncertain whether and how to continue. I've never had a friend like this before, so I have no experience telling me how to proceed. "You know that... you can tell me anything, don't you? I'm not going to run off and tell anyone, and I'm not going to judge you."

As the words leave my mouth, I blink. How did I get here? Three weeks ago I hadn't even met him.

I need to think about that. This is weird.

Ramza turns to face me full-on, brow knitted in thoughtful surprise. "I... I think I knew that, Agrias," he realizes. "I think that's why I told you, just now. But thank you. Only..." He trails off, blushing, and turns away again.

"Only what?" I prompt. A spark of irritation jumps to life inside me and I stamp it out.

"Only Alma has ever said anything like that to me before," he finishes lamely. "Thank you."

I nod, choosing not to speak since I don't know what to say. After a moment I begin to slide the stone across my sword once more. Some odd locks of golden hair hang past my face as I lean over the weapon; should he glance my way, they will hide my cheeks, which are probably as red as his are.

This is unlike me. I need to get away from him, need to talk to someone else about what's... but there is no one else, is there? The whole point is that he's my only friend, in this party or anywhere. He's the source of the problem that a friend could help to solve.

Agrias, you're a silly girl. Grow up.

"You know," continues Ramza pensively, apparently staring off at the moon, "you can tell me anything you want, as well. I won't betray your trust."

"Thank you," I acknowledge quietly, still sharpening my weapon. Whatever you want to hear, Ramza, I can't tell you. Not now. Not until I know what words are going to come out. It's sad, because you deserve better, but I never claimed to be a good friend.

I'm just able to recognize one.

Moments slip past to the accompaniment of crickets and the rustling breeze. I soon put my sword away and tuck the whetstone into a belt pouch. I suspect the weapon is going to see more than its usual share of activity tomorrow, so I want it to be in good condition.

I don't speak again for the rest of the watch, and neither does he. When the time comes, I rise with him and trot to my sleeping place near Alicia and Lavian. Dew has begun to bead on my armor; I drape my cloak protectively over it and curl up uncovered on the ground. If I'm going to meet God tomorrow, I want to be presentable.

* * *

When morning comes, I awake before the others. I try to make as little noise as possible donning my armor in the grey pre-dawn twilight, and I don't think anyone else stirs. After buckling on my sword, I step a short distance away from the camp, into the trees. 

Once I'm a good hundred paces away from the others, I drop to my knees and bow my head. It's been a while since I've said my prayers, and I do so now. Reciting the formal words in the silence of my mind eases my worries and soothes my spirit... although despite the troubles that fade to mist as I kneel there, one rises to prominence.

God's own church has descended to the bloody realm of politics. Not just politics, but war. Is Cardinal Draclau an aberration, or is he the new face of Glabados Church, displacing the benevolent old guard like Simon? Has the rampant corruption soiling state and nobility alike spread tendrils into the church?

I feel so helpless. This is contrary to everything I know. When I get to Lionel Castle, there will be an accounting.

Twigs and fallen leaves crunch softly somewhere behind me. "There you are," says Ramza.

I nod, standing and brushing dirt from my knees. "Are we ready?"

"We are," comes his voice. "I'll... meet you back at the camp." I can hear his footsteps receding.

The sun has risen, I notice. Bars of pale sunlight angle through the faint mist under the trees, God's weak gaze squinting at his children. He sees, but does he care?

I don't care if he cares. _I_ care.

I turn back and thread through the trees towards where the others are just giving final adjustments to the packs on Boco. A few heads turn to greet me, and I give a solemn nod.

In moments we are moving. The road, such as it is, cutting through the hills and trees makes for hard but straightforward travel. At some point in the early afternoon we pass the spot where Ramza and the others found me; there are still bloody spots in the trampled grass.

So many have suffered and died for Ovelia. We're all pieces on a board, still, moving to some unknown player's hand. I don't think the players weep over the taking of every single pawn or knight. Perhaps a bishop will fall tomorrow; what will they do then? I suspect the game will continue with other pieces in his place.

When we make camp, I eat and quickly seek my blankets. I'm sure Ramza wants to discuss strategy or feelings or some such, but we can do that as we travel tomorrow, and I need to be refreshed if we're going to be attacking a bloody castle.

Whatever dreams I have during the night do not stay with me upon awakening, but I remember them feeling cold and clear, like blades made of glass. Incidentally, that is how I myself feel as we armor up and make for Lionel Castle.

As I expected, Ramza drops back to walk with me as we travel. "You were at the Castle longer than I was," he notes. "Do you know anything that might help us?"

I smile at having thought ahead this far; it seems all those hours of boredom were not without their reward. "Most times there are only a handful of men at the main gate." I think the Castle's defenders count on the walls keeping small numbers of intruders out, while larger numbers will come with warning enough to prepare more. "There's a place on the western side where someone should be able to scale the wall and reach the battlements. From there, if the attacker is quick and stealthy, the guards up there should not present a problem. Then we can open the gate, and the rest of us can come in."

He eyes me with some surprise, perhaps not realizing how much thought I've devoted to this. "I see," he answers after a moment. "I can do that, then."

I frown at him. "I wasn't talking about you."

Ramza smiles. "Well, in your armor, you're not suited for it. Really, the only ones who might be are myself and Ironside, and I can't send him in there alone."

He has a point. After a moment I nod, wondering idly what he would have done if I hadn't had a plan. "Fair enough."

In only a few hours, the massive form of the Castle looms ahead of us, and I steer the party towards the climbable section of wall I noticed earlier. Ramza grabs hold of the vines cloaking the stone and begins his ascent. I watch him in concern, a curative spell at the ready, totally expecting him to fall, but he makes it up without a problem.

Once there, he nods down at the rest of the party and points silently off to one side, towards the main gate. I nod, aware of several others doing likewise, and we quickly make our way along the wall.

I can't believe we're doing this. Ramza is going to die here. We'll all probably die.

As we reach the gate, however, I slow and then stop before it, glancing about in alarm. There's no one here. This isn't right at all; my skin is crawling in the anticipation of an attack, but there's not a single defender in sight.

Up above, Ramza shrugs and addresses the rest of us. "Wait there," he suggests. "I'll open the gate."

"Not so fast!" calls a voice from inside. "You got in all right, but didn't notice an ambush."

That's Gafgarion again. Damn. Doesn't the man know when he's beaten?

"Damn!" calls Ramza above, echoing my thoughts.

"Ramza!" continues the dark knight from within the castle. "It's me you must fight with! En garde!"

Well, that leaves my work cut out for me. I turn around to face the Lionel reinforcements that have arrived. Of particular concern, I note, is the summoner in the back.

I start running towards him. He won't trouble us if I have anything to say about it.

The sounds of battle erupt behind me and all around, but I don't slow down. A knight pauses to hack at me, cutting a wound in my arm, but I ignore it as I unleash a Lightning Stab in front of me. The summoner, caught in mid-chant, drops like a sack of flour, but a female knight shrugs off the attack, taking an injury but no more.

Suddenly Hannibal is beside me, hacking at one of the knights and shattering the woman's blade. The other knight over by us turns on him, fighting two one one with her companion.

I leave them for the moment, instead summoning my power again at an archer. The attack thunders into the man, stunning him, and a quick downward hack with my blade finishes him off. Wasting no time, I spin back, shuffling around to help Hannibal battle the knights facing him.

In moments we've finished off the guards outside. I rush towards the gate, frowning through it. "Ramza?"

"We must save the princess before reinforcements arrive!" calls his muffled voice from within. After a moment, something clunks, and the gate begins to rumble upwards.

I duck under it first and examine the Beoulve frankly. He's bruised and bloodied, looking as though someone clubbed him with a tree, and he's standing on shaking legs. "Are you well?"

Ramza grins at me. "Oh, I'm fine, Agrias." He sways briefly, but his grin remains.

Shaking my head, I chant briefly, casting the most powerful curative at my disposal. Sparkling motes of energy swirl and rise around him, knitting his wounds together and leaving him whole and unbroken.

Strawberry shuffles up to eye me consideringly. "I did not know you were proficient in white magic," she remarks.

I spare her a hasty glance. "I'm a Holy Knight," I explain.

She nods. "Perhaps we might chat, later."

Whatever. I nod and begin hurrying after Ramza towards the interior of Lionel Castle.

Having been to the cardinal's office before, we know exactly where to find it, and waste little time running there. Fortunately, we encounter no guards along the way, at least none blocking our progress, though shouts soon begin to follow us through the stark stone corridors.

Ramza reaches the Cardinal's door first and kicks it open with a loud crack. We spread into the room, then slow when it appears that the holy man, though present, is completely unalarmed at our presence.

"Gafgarion is not as good as he says," remarks Draclau in a mild rumble as he turns to face us. "Or was it bad luck? Anyhow, you're good. You have Beoulve blood in your veins. Even if you are a bastard."

He begins to approach us in a slow, almost menacing manner. I exchange confused glances with Ramza. This is not what I expected. The man is not frightened of us at all.

"But," continues Lionel's governor, "I don't need your interference anymore. Leave the stone here. If you resist, I'll show no mercy."

Ramza glares at the Cardinal. "Where is Princess Ovelia?"

"Why must you save her?" asks Draclau as though questioning a student of logic. "You deserted the Beoulves. What can you change by yourself? Don't waste energy. Without power, nothing can be achieved. You're powerless." All of this he says in that low, unperturbed rumble of a voice he has.

Ramza is unconvinced. "Where's the Princess?"

"She's not here," answers the Cardinal simply. "She left for Zeltennia. She chose our help over yours."

"That's a lie!" accuses Ramza.

"She has begun to think for herself," continues Draclau as though Ramza had not even spoken. "She felt unsure of you and chose us for obvious reasons to take the throne. Why don't you join us? You want to get the best of your brothers' sails, right? We care about the world, too. How about it?"

"I don't want to change the world!" shouts Ramza without hesitating a blink. "I just can't allow people to suffer and die because of some elitist's ideas. Change the world? You think anyone really can? I'm not that reckless!"

To my surprise, the Cardinal throws back and laughs, a deep belly laugh that somehow expresses comtempt as well as amusement. "You're the one holding the stone," he notes. "You can change not only the world, but the truth of everything with its power. Since you don't seem to understand, let me show you."

Once more, the man reaches into his robes to produce the Zodiac Stone I saw before. Holding it aloft, he frowns momentarily.

Then the energies begin to flow. I don't think I've ever seen such a display of raw power before in my life, and it freezes me in terror. Souls swirl wailingly around, sucked into the Cardinal as though by some malevolent force.

My God. He's using the Stone _against us_.

When the last flash of ruby light clears, the holy man of Glabados is gone, replaced by a... a demon. That's the only word my mind can put to the monstrosity before us. He is round and puffy, like uncooked dough, and his eyes are black pools grinning at us. Oddly, I recognize its similarity to figures drawn in ancient texts; it is the Zodiac Brave Queklain. He'd been a king once, supposedly.

The demon laughs, and the sound makes me want to cover my ears. "How about that?" he asks; eerily, his voice is much like Draclau's rumble. "Surprised? Now, let me have my fun. Let me hear your screams and suffering death cries!"

Enough of this. I'm probably going to die, but I know what to do to demons. I break into a run towards him, aware of Ramza doing the same beside me.

Before we reach Queklain, the demon pulls open its stomach, revealing a monstrous view into some horrifying other space. The mere sight of it causes Strawberry and Ironside to stumble and fall behind me. Hopefully they are just unconscious.

Partway up the steps to the Cardinal's desk, I stop. "Heaven's wish to destroy all minds!" I call, slashing my sword towards the demon. "Holy explosion!" As a column of bladelike energy rips through the thing, I am acutely aware of the potential irony of my words. Did whoever first honed that skill know something about heaven that I don't?

A heartbeat later, Ramza skids to a halt before the demon and punches it fiercely; a dull thud sounds through the office, and though I suspect he could have punched through a tree with that blow, Queklain seems to shrug it off. Back near the door, I can see Hannibal kicking the fallen awake. Good.

Growling, Queklain rounds on Ramza and opens his stomach again. Ramza does not fall, fortunately, though he goes pale and stumbles briefly. Odd.

I shift aside to unleash another Holy Explosion, just as Strawberry begins invoking some spell or other. Ironside and Hannibal both run up to join Ramza in hacking at the demon.

Queklain invokes some new otherworldly attack, coursing vile green energy through Ironside and Hannibal. Instantly, however, a point of glowing red energy in him explodes into a miniature mushroom-shaped cloud; even from where I stand, waves of heat puff my hair back. That must have been Strawberry, then. She must be very good at what she does.

Ramza manages to punch Queklain again, and is rewarded by an eerily-human scream. The demon freezes, then begins to quiver inexplicably.

"I'm immortal!" he bellows, a roar of bestial fury. "How can I be losing? It's impossible. I can't... die... until he resurrects..."

With one final cry, Queklain explodes in a blinding flash of light. When my vision clears again, all I can see is the ruby Zodiac Stone hovering where he used to be. Then it drops harmlessly to the ground.

All I can do is stare at the thing, as Queklain's last words echo through my head. _I can't die until he resurrects._ The only person I know who's supposed to come back to life is Saint Ajora. Does that mean the Son of God commands demons? Can it be true?

My blood runs cold at this thought. It is dangerously blasphemous, so much so I wouldn't be surprised if God struck me down on the spot, but I can't deny what my eyes saw. The Zodiac Brave Queklain is actually a demon. Was a demon. And we managed to kill him.

With shaking hands, Ramza squats and retrieves the glittering red crystal, then just stands staring at it. I can't help but do the same.

"Freeze!" calls a voice from the doorway. Blinking, I spin and see a Knight Blade standing outside, sword in his hands. Another pair of guards stands beyond him. I recognize the man; he is Salian, a captain in the guards here. "Where is the Cardinal?" he demands. "What did you do?"

Ramza turns to face the man. "He is... he was a demon," he explains awkwardly. "He tried to kill us, but we sent him to somewhere else. I don't know if we killed him."

Salian's face darkens as the explanation wears on, and I can see the man's eyes dropping until he, too, is staring at the holy stone. No recognition crosses his face, but clearly he can sense its importance. He remains silent for a time, but then his eyes shift to me. "Is that true?"

I nod slowly. "I wouldn't believe it myself," I answer, "but that's what happened. He turned into a demon and attacked us, then when he died he exploded and left the crystal behind."

Salian frowns, sheathing his blade. Then, with quick strides, he advances to where we stand and peers all about. After a moment he grunts. "There's no body," he admits uncomfortably. "I know he was in here just moments ago." Once again he stares at the stone, then glances up at Ramza. "I would leave Lionel if I were you," he advises quietly. "It won't take long for someone else to find you."

"We will," promises Ramza earnestly. "Is what he said about Princess Ovelia true? Is she in the Castle, yet?"

The knight shakes his head. "She left yesterday for... Zeltennia, I think."

Ramza nods. "Thank you," he insists, clapping the man briefly on the shoulder. "We'll disappear." Then, before anyone can do anything, his eyes roll up in his head and he drops to the floor.

Ironside and I both dash to his side, but the monk reaches him first. "No pulse," he declares, frowning at me. "He's dead."

I sigh. Death sentence. I've seen it before, but it's rare. Without hesitating, I begin to cast a spell of my own, and in a moment the familiar glowing orb of white light floats down to Ramza's body.

The Beoulve coughs haggardly for a moment, then sits up. His eyes seek me out as if drawn like iron filings to a lodestone, and he smiles again.

"We need to go," I remind him, offering a hand down to help him up. "They'll kill us if they find us here."

"You're right," he concedes. "Let's go!"

Salian watches us leave without expression, and I don't look back. We run through the Castle, encountering as little resistance as we found on the way in, despite the number of men and women running around screaming that there was an attack. Perhaps they helped us; I don't know.

Rather than leaving through the main gate, which by now is surely heavily guarded, I instead direct the party to a smaller gate, one that's seldom used. Only one guard happens to be there, we find; Ramza knocks him out with a single punch, and we leave Lionel Castle behind us.

I don't think we stop running, or slow down at all, until the sun begins setting over the beautiful hills to the west. We left heading north out of the city, and here there are fewer trees to block the sunset, which is a nice benefit to soften the blow of having made enemies of every regional government around here. And after all that, we didn't find Ovelia, again.

She's left us. Left me. It's her right, certainly; she is a grown woman, after all, capable of making her own decisions, and I'm hardly her mother. Still, I won't say it doesn't hurt.

Ramza doesn't allow a fire tonight, so I eat my meal near one edge of the camp, next to Alicia and Lavian. There is much to worry about, so I say nothing, instead sitting lost in my thoughts.

"Captain?" Lavian's voice interrupts my introspection.

I blink at her. "Yes?"

"I don't know if the St. Konoe Knights will want us around after this."

I nod, sighing heavily. "I know. I wonder about that too." I'm a political liability, now, and while I can't imagine that my commanders would sell me out to clear themselves, I would have said something similar about Cardinal Draclau a week ago. Now I don't trust anyone.

The dark-haired knight nods as well, falling silent now that her concerns have been voiced. Alicia merely gnaws on a strip of salted beef, glancing between us. Crickets chirp happily somewhere nearby, unconcerned with our troubles.

Some time later, Ramza appears and seats himself among us. He stares at me until the silence grows uncomfortable, but eventually directs his attention to the knights as well. "What are you three going to do?" he asks. "Going to Zeltennia?"

I shake my head. "We were just talking about that, and I'm not sure. We might not be safe there, or in Lesalia."

"And it seems Princess Ovelia is doing fine without us," adds Alicia.

For now, I add silently. "I don't know, Ramza." I pause. "What about you? What are you planning?"

The young noble frowns into the night. "I've been talking to Mustadio. He joined us to make sure his holy stone didn't fall into the wrong hands, and now there's another one to worry about. It's a little suspicious how they are popping up now, like it's all part of someone's plan. I think I want to follow them, to see what's happening at the core of all this. Since the stones are involved, it could be something immensely dangerous. One holy stone would be bad enough, but with the others floating around... Ivalice itself could be in danger. The whole world."

Though his words are a little melodramatic, he is exactly right, and I do not attempt to argue. "You want to... what, then?" I prompt. "Collect them? Dispose of them somehow?"

He shakes his head. "If everyone who has one is like Draclau, then yes, I want to take them away. But then, Mustadio's been carrying one around for months, and he's not a monster. It's just... I think there's another war brewing, and I wouldn't be surprised if the stones are involved."

"Another war," I echo thoughtfully. "You're probably right." God, that's the last thing Ivalice needs right now, but that's exactly where it's headed.

Ramza gazes at me with all of his attention. "Do you want to come along with me? If a war is going to break out, we'll probably be some of the only people trying to stop it. If others like Draclau are trying to use the stones, I'm sure we'll be the only people trying to stop them. We'll need all the help we can take."

I hesitate, glancing at my companions, who seem as torn as I am. What's before me if I return to Ovelia? Dishonor, certainly. Exile. Possibly death. At best, it means being at the front of an Ivalician civil war and choosing a side. If I accept Ramza's proposition, then? Uncertainty, I suppose... but also a chance to do genuine good, to help all people instead of just some nobles here or others there.

I sit there for quite a while, but what finally tips the scale is the memory of the battle with Queklain. The St. Konoe Knights serve the church as well as the state, and I can't go back to serving a church that contains literal demons like Draclau. Or, at least, not without verifying that he was a fluke. He was a menace to everyone, not just the church.

Protecting Ivalice, I decide, is a duty of a higher moral plane than protecting the royal family. Something inside me breaks at the decision, but I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did anything different.

"I can't speak for the others, but I'll go with you," I answer, meeting Ramza's gaze again. His smile is warm and genuine.

"I'll go, too," decides Lavian. "It's safe to say our duty to Ovelia has expired for the time being."

"And I," adds Alicia. "The holy stones are a much bigger worry than anything else I've seen."

"Good," nods Ramza, spreading his smile between all of us before letting it fade. "Let's get some sleep, then." He climbs to his feet, brushing dirt from his backside.

As he turns to go, I catch his wrist. He turns back to me, and I stare up into his eyes significantly. "We became renegades for this, Ramza."

"I know," he answers quietly. "I won't forget." Suddenly he quirks another smile. "Being a renegade isn't so bad, once you get used to it. No one's pushing you around."

I let him go and he wanders off, chuckling. After a moment of staring after him, I sigh again and turn back to my food.

"What a strange man," remarks Lavian. "I don't think anything worries him greatly."

"The stones worry him," counters Alicia softly. "They worry me."

I swallow the last few berries I'd taken earlier. "Finish eating," I advise. "There's much to do."


	6. Chapter 6: What Veils Don't Hide

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy Tactics or any of the characters therein. I am using them without permission and will cease to do so if asked. Please don't sue.

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Chapter Six: What Veils Don't Hide 

After leaving Lionel, we head for Dorter, then to Gariland, and then onward still. We spend so much time travelling, to so many different places, that I think they've started to blur together for me. Ramza's been insisting we investigate every rumor we stumble across, tackle every odd job posted in bars, all in the hope that it might lead us to some new information on the brewing war or the holy stones. So far we've found nothing.

That's not to say that nothing of interest has happened, however. We've acquired odd bits of treasure from the jobs we've finished, and though they're largely useless, it's nice to have them. Each one is like a little story in itself.

More important than the trinkets, though, is what I observe the members of Ramza's party doing. I've never seen a group of people switch lifestyles so much. Opal left thievery behind and tried a monk's life for a time, and now is studying geomancy with Ironside. Hannibal put away his sword for a while to learn the bow, even dabbling in black magic briefly before trying martial arts. Strawberry, claiming to have learned all that she could about wizardry, talked with me at length before adopting the tenets of the priesthood. She wants to study magic in all its forms, she says. I'm not going to argue.

It's Ramza's influence, I think. He pushes people in his gentle way, prods them to hone their skills and develop new ones. Every night, literally every night, the party finds open space somewhere to train against one another, to learn from each other. Alicia has begun studying stealth and trickery, as Opal did earlier, while Lavian has delved into, of all things, magic. I think she wants to be a summoner.

This feverish insanity has even spread to me, I admit. After discussing the matter with Ramza, I decided to learn what I can of the knight fighting style, and have since gone on to try my hand at monkhood. I feel a little silly about it all, and I can't make myself dress like a proper monk, still preferring my coat and breeches, but his point is valid in that knowing more is always better.

I've never seen any other party do this. Never. I think it's a gift Ramza has, something that will ultimately help everyone here ascend past the rigid role distinctions found in many armies to something new, something that will surely help us if we're to do what we aim for.

I don't tell him that, however. Too much praise, and he'll get a big head.

It's not that I don't have any opportunities to tell him about it; on the contrary, I speak with him often. Whether we're at an inn or roughing it in the wilderness somewhere, somehow we end up sitting together and simply talking. He explains in depth the relationships he has with his siblings, especially Alma. I hear a lot about Alma. Alma, Alma, Alma. While Dycedarg seems like everything I've heard about him -- a typical noble ass -- Zalbag appears to present a mystery, even to Ramza. He sounds more personable than Dycedarg, more understanding, and yet he was the one to command the Hokuten to kill Ramza at Fort Zeakden. I suppose he's just one of those for whom duty simply outweighs every other concern.

To my surprise, I find up telling him equally much about my parents and my brother Andris. I suppose my family life hasn't been as chaotic as his, but I explain it all anyway, and Ramza seems to find it all very interesting somehow.

Family isn't all we talk about. In fact, to Ramza anything at all seems to be an acceptable topic for conversation. I've found myself discussing things I've never really addressed or thought about, like the future, or political theory, or how history might record our deeds if it does so at all. He even brought up romance at one point, but after admitting that neither of us has ever had any, the topic died quickly.

His goals, I've discovered, are almost the same as mine. We both want to stop the civil war starting up, both want to prevent the holy stones from falling into malevolent hands, both want to end the rampant corruption and oppression that have marked recent Ivalician history. I find that pleasant.

Some nights we stay up talking until dawn. It's rough the next day, usually, but I wouldn't give it up.

"I've been thinking," he muses one night as we're all sitting about an inn in Dorter. The usual bar noises -- arguing, yelling and singing -- nearly drown out his voice, but he doesn't seem to care. "I think someone's using the war. I think it's a plot of some sort."

I exchange glances with Alicia and Lavian, aware of the others around the table doing something similar. The war we feared would happen has started, with terrible fighting at and around Gulofavia. Three months have passed since it all started, and supposedly things have settled into a grim stalemate over there.

"Why?" asks Mustadio eventually.

"Think about it," insists Ramza, putting his fork down on an empty plate. "Cardinal Draclau had a holy stone, right? He wanted Ovelia on the throne, but I don't think he was with Goltana. At least, he was also conspiring with Larg at the same time."

"I'm not so sure about that," I add cautiously. "He said so, but he may have just been trying to misdirect me."

"Even so," continues Ramza, "he didn't seem to care at all about the feud between Larg and Goltana. I think he had his own goals, and I think the war was part of what he had in mind. But he wouldn't have stood to gain anything from it, right? I mean, he's not with the Hokuten or the Nanten, so whatever happens to them, Lionel doesn't profit."

"Not Lionel," I agree, thinking. "The church."

He eyes me, then nods once. "Maybe. I have no idea, really. But the fact remains that he was intending to start a war without anything to gain from it. That sounds like some bigger plan in action, to me."

Mustadio frowns at him. "So you think Draclau was manipulating things? He's dead now. What does it matter?"

"Well, like I said," answers Ramza, "he didn't stand to gain. Someone else probably does, and they're still active, I would bet. What could they have wanted that the Zodiac Stone could not have given them?"

"The throne?" frowns Mustadio.

"Trust," I suggest.

"Authority," shrugs Lavian.

Ramza shakes his head tiredly. "It's too early to speculate," he sighs. "I think if I explain it to someone in power, they could do something to stop it. Zalbag, maybe."

I study him carefully. Zalbag is the brother that tried to have him killed, and Ramza still trusts him? Is that a strength on his part, or a weakness?"

"Why?" wonders Mustadio. "He can't do anything, can he?"

"No," concedes Ramza, "but Dycedarg can, and he's more likely to listen to Zalbag than to me."

"Fair enough," I shrug. Even if Ramza is wrong, attempting to win Zalbag to our cause isn't a bad idea. "Do you know where he is?"

"Rumor places him in Lesalia," he replies guardedly, watching me.

Lesalia. Damn. I'm probably wanted there by now. Still, if it will help us stop this war, I'll do it. I don't carry my St. Konoe shield anymore, and with a cloak I doubt anyone will recognize me as Agrias Oaks, the renegade Holy Knight. I nod.

Relief washes visibly through Ramza's body. "Good. Is everyone agreed? We can leave tomorrow."

People around our table nod, mostly unconcerned; without any solid ideas of their own, they're content to try Ramza's. I suppose I fall under that category as well.

I finish eating in silence, then hurry to where the inn's serving girls have prepared our baths. Only Strawberry is there at the moment, though I suspect the other women will join us before long.

I can sense the other woman's stare on me as I undress and toss my clothes into a pile near the tub. As I climb into the steamy water, I finally frown at her. "What?"

Strawberry blinks. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead." After a day of travelling, followed by sparring with Hannibal, the water does wonders to soothe my aches and loosen my muscles.

The priestess eyes me a moment longer. "Why do you follow Ramza?" she asks. "You've more experience, and would probably make the better commander. It seems like he should be following you."

I chuckle despite myself as I undo my braid. "His goals are the same as mine," I explain. "Since only one of us can lead, it may as well be him. He's done well enough so far, and he's earned the right."

Strawberry ponders that for a time, then nods. "I can see that," she decides. "Interesting."

What's so interesting about it? I fight to smooth the frown on my face. "What about you? It seems like he's always falling into traps and such."

Strawberry sighs, then gives me a frank look. "Let's face it," she says in a low voice. "I'm smarter than Ramza. You're smarter than Ramza. Most of us are probably smarter than Ramza. But then, it's not his intellect that inspires. It's his heart. The rest of us let him choose what he wants to do, because we know it will be the right choice. It's our job to make sure that what he wants done _gets_ done."

I consider the other woman's words as the warmth of the bath melts into my body. She's right, I realize. I don't know that Ramza's unintelligent, per se, because I know he can be clever, but Strawberry is right in that it doesn't particularly matter. Typically once he decides on something to accomplish, he runs the idea past everyone in the party, getting ideas, before finally choosing one approach. Really, as I think about it, I much prefer his style over those of other commanders I've known, many of whom seem to think that their rank endows them with superior and infallible knowledge.

As I sit there thinking, Opal slips into the washroom and smiles. "Oh, these are nice," she exclaims softly, toeing a nearby tub. "Nicer than the ones in Igros, at any rate."

"Igros is bigger," notes Strawberry, "but Dorter gets more travellers. I'm not surprised."

Opal nods as she disrobes. "Count Minimum is such an airhead," she sighs, giggling. "I'm surprised he was able to become so wealthy."

"He's corrupt, too," adds Strawberry dryly, "or had you forgotten that? That's why he's not the mayor here."

Opal shrugs easily. "I don't know about that. He seemed polite, though. Not all men in his position are."

Strawberry shakes her head at the heavens and falls silent. Moments later, Alicia and Lavian duck into the washroom and claim their own tubs. Soon steam obscures the far walls of the room.

"So what are you going to do?" asks Alicia, apparently continuing an earlier conversation. "Are you going to say anything?"

"I couldn't," mutters Lavian. Her cheeks have turned a noticeable red. "Maybe if... no, I couldn't."

"Why not?" charges Alicia scornfully. "What's the worst that could happen? He'd say no and you'd be fine."

Lavian squirms uncomfortably. "Yeah, but then it would be... weird. If that's a possibility, it's not worth it."

Opal perks up. "Who are you talking about?"

As Lavian slides deeper into her bathwater, trying to hide, Alicia grins. "Ramza," explains the redhead. "Lavian likes him."

Strawberry and Opal exchange knowing looks. "Another one," sighs the priestess. "Opal here is the same way."

Alicia blinks. "Honestly? Why haven't you done anything?"

The monk smiles shyly. "For the same reasons as Lavian, I think."

"You're both pretty," acknowledges Strawberry flatly, "but I don't think you'll have much luck. Opal and I have talked about this."

I share a confused glance with my former knights. "What do you mean?" asks Alicia.

Strawberry grins. "Let's just say that someday, Ramza will make some lucky fellow a very happy man."

Silence follows her words. I can feel my brow knitting as I ponder her implication. "Do you... are you saying Ramza is a homosexual?" Such things are often rumored about this noble or that, but I've talked to the man enough; I would think I'd know if he preferred the company of men. I'm not sure what I think about this.

The priestess shrugs wearily. "Think about it," she suggests, raising a hand to start enumerating points on her fingers. "He's compassionate. He's sensitive. He's gentle. He's always caught up in his feelings. He... drinks milk. Seriously. Every night, every bar we stop in, he orders milk. I can't even remember how many fights he's almost started because of that alone. He doesn't seem to care much for women; talking about them _as_ women makes him uncomfortable."

"What do you mean?" I interrupt, still frowning. I haven't noticed this in any of my conversations with him.

Strawberry eyes me for a moment. "Ask him sometime if he's ever kissed anyone. He'll stammer for half an hour."

"I've talked about that with him," I explain. "He said he hasn't."

The spellcaster frowns momentarily, then shrugs again. "In any case, after Fort Zeakden, Kyoko tried to steal into his blankets to 'comfort' him, but he sent her away in tears. I'm sure he didn't say anything unkind -- you know Ramza -- but whatever he did say, it certainly wasn't what she wanted to hear. I don't think many men would refuse Kyoko."

"Who is she?" asks Alicia.

"Oh. She was with us in our Hokuten days." Strawberry pauses. "I think she's actually back with them now. We saw her a while back, in Igros. She's an officer, I think. Very pretty woman, but not what Ramza wanted, apparently."

"This is getting rather far afield," mutters Opal. "He's out of my league anyway."

I open my mouth to tell her that Ramza wouldn't care about any such thing, but no words come forth. After Opal looks at me I put a fist over my mouth, pretending to yawn. What's wrong with me? I know it's the truth; I know him pretty well now, perhaps better than the others.

That line of thought leads to its own strange corollary: I've spent so much time talking with him, entire nights, but he's never tried to kiss me, or even touch me in more than a friendly way. From what I know of men, most would have, by now. Many in the Knights would try as much without knowing someone at all first.

That's good, right? I mean, I don't want him pawing at me, do I? Still, it's disturbing, if only because I've never heard anything about it. Perhaps I'll have to ask him.

I snort at the idea, discarding it. How would that go, exactly? Ramza, do you prefer your lovers to be male? No, it would be rude, and it's none of my concern. Technically it's supposed to be sinful as well, or at least the church elders claim as much, but these are the same holy men who lately have been turning into Lucavi demons in front of my eyes.

I'll make up my own mind on that, thank you very much. It's strange, but I think that if Ramza does something, it's probably not sinful.

How odd. He's the only person about whom I would say such a thing.

"What about you, Agrias?" Alicia's voice cuts through my introspection, reminding me that the others have continued to chat while I've been thinking.

"What?" I ask, more sharply than I intend. I close my eyes, trying to soften my voice. "I'm sorry; I wasn't paying attention. What were you saying?"

The aspiring thief's face clears. "I was asking what you look for in a man."

"Oh." I shake my head firmly. "Nothing. I've never really given the matter any thought."

"Come on," urges the other woman. "You must have some thoughts." All the others are watching me with interest, I see. Why is that?

I spread my hands helplessly. "I'm not kidding. I have no idea. I'd have to think about it."

Alicia smiles. "We can wait."

I scowl at her, then sigh irritably. Fine. "I suppose..." I trail off awkwardly. I can't believe they're making me do this. "I suppose... he has to be good-hearted," I begin weakly. "He should... know his way around a battlefield, as well." As I continue, the words start coming out more easily. "He shouldn't be gruff, either, or blustering. A man should be polite, honorable. He should be completely trustworthy. Someone who's... as strong as he is shy. He shouldn't be too confident, because that can border on arrogance. He should be courageous and caring alike. And humble." I pause, then shrug. A long list.

A sudden thought hits me. With a few exceptions, I've described my father. That's... uncomfortable.

The women laugh, exchanging glances as though they can sense my thoughts. "What?"

Alicia turns back to me. "You mean someone like Ramza?"

"Oh, please," I sigh. "He's far too young."

"You're only a few years apart," continues the former knight. "That's hardly anything."

"Well," I scowl, "it's different when it's the woman who's older. Don't be silly."

"You're kidding," concludes Alicia in disbelief. "It's like you had him specifically in mind when you said all of that."

I fix her with a steady gaze. "I wasn't talking about him," I state firmly. "And that's that."

"Whatever," sighs the other woman. "I'm sorry I pestered you."

Another silence falls over the chamber, this one a little more awkward than the last. Finally Strawberry shifts. "Well, _I_ think a man should have an edge to him. When he looks at you, you should know he's a man and you're a woman."

Alicia grins again. "You mean someone like Hannibal?"

Strawberry's face falls expressionless, and again Alicia holds up her hands in defense. "Sorry, sorry." Lavian snickers.

"Maybe I should just talk to Ironside," murmurs Opal wistfully, playing with the water before her. "He's a sweetheart too."

I start trying to ignore the washroom chatter. My God, is men all they think about? No, I know that's not a fair accusation; they're very serious warriors with an equally-serious cause. I suppose they just need a way to unwind, but does it have to be at my expense?

Anyway, I have no interest in Ramza. It wouldn't be right.

This never used to be a problem when they still called me "Captain." Of course, with just the three of us, things were rather less interesting.

Some time later, I climb out of the water, dripping all over the tiles until I drape a towel around myself. Thankfully, none of the other women bother me further, as they're still happily engaged in some other conversation now. I dress as unobtrusively as possible and make my way out to the room I'm sharing with Alicia and Lavian.

He's too young, besides. Totally unsuitable.

Sleep is slow in coming tonight. I suppose it's because I really don't want to go back to Lesalia, but I'm sure I'll be fine there. Maybe I really should dress as a monk, or perhaps tie my hair up. I smile at that thought; my hair has been long since I was a child. I'd probably look funny any other way.

I rise early the next day and slip out of the inn, heading towards one of the many market districts in Dorter. The combined odors of animals, cooking food and sweating humans assault my senses as I thread through the morning crowds, but I don't mind; it's a friendly, prosperous city. There's really nothing not to like about Dorter, I reflect.

While I'm out, I stop at a few tailor's shops until I find one that sells men's clothes for women; there aren't many around here, but I can typically find one in most trade cities. After rummaging quickly through their stock, I find something I'd wear, then take it to the aging fellow at a desk near the back. The garments have been cut for a... less gifted woman, which probably means they're for a blooming girl, but the tailor happily agrees to adjust them to fit me. He tries claiming it will take him a day to make the changes, but the combination of enough gil and cold stares from me convinces him to do it immediately. I know Ramza will want to leave this morning, and I don't want to slow the party down.

On my way back I pick up a bit of new equipment, then hurry back to the inn. The others are just eating breakfast as I step through the common room door; I give Lavian a nod and jog up the stairs to our room. Once there, I undress and change into the new clothes. I've purchased coat and breeches, similar to my other ones, though these are white with sword-like blue slashes on the hem and cuffs. A moment of effort with my hair lets me tie a twisted headband around it, trapping it up around my head. As a final touch, I wrap a white silk scarf around my neck and face, leaving only my eyes uncovered.

I look like some bizarre exotic monk or ninja, I realize, glancing down at myself. I also look very pale. The white suits me, but my eyes and the hemwork are now the only color on my person. Still, in Lesalia I'd rather look like a ghost than Agrias Oaks. I doubt even my own mother would recognize me.

Stuffing my other garments into a backpack, I make my way down to the common room. I'd like some food in me before we hit the road.

Mustadio sees me first down there. "Holy..." He trails off, frowning at me. "Agrias, you look different." The rest of the party follows his glance and blinks.

"Good," I answer. "I don't want people to recognize me in Lesalia."

"They probably won't," agrees the mechanic absently, still frowning at me. Beside him, Hannibal grins and nudges Ramza with an elbow. The latter two men exchange a glance, and Ramza grows visibly uncomfortable, apparently trying not to look at me.

I ignore them for the moment, instead calling out an order for porridge and seating myself at the table between Lavian and Ironside. Low conversation resumes around me, and Ramza continues to glance at me out of the corners of his eyes for a time. Whatever, Ramza. I look different now; you'll get used to it.

Before long we say our farewells to the innkeeper -- temporary farewells, because I'm sure we'll be here again -- and wander out of the city, heading northward. I walk near the front, as I usually do, and somehow end up next to Ramza. I don't know if he fell back or I sped up, but we've been walking together fairly often of late, so it doesn't really concern me.

"I didn't realize you were _that_ worried about going to Lesalia," he says at one point around midmorning. The sun is out, sparkling brightly off the bristling weapons in our party. It is a pleasant day for travel.

"I'm not, really," I shrug. "I just don't like to take chances."

He nods, not quite meeting my gaze as we walk. "Why did you change now, though? It'll be days before we get there."

"Why not?" I counter. "Dorter had the supplies, and many places north of here might not. Besides, I should look comfortable in what I'm wearing; if it looks new and awkward on me, it won't be a convincing disguise." Abruptly it starts frustrating me to have this be such a big issue. It's just clothes, for God's sake. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh. I don't know," he sighs, still not meeting my eyes.

My irritation burns a little more brightly, so I deal with the issue the only way I know how: straightforwardly. "Why won't you look at me, Ramza?"

He jerks his head up to stare at me, cheeks flushing in, if I'm not mistaken, anger. "Do you really want to know?" he asks, eyebrows drawn downward.

"Why wouldn't I?" I demand. He looks like he has some embarassing secret, and it's making my skin crawl.

He glares at me a moment longer, then shifts his gaze to the road ahead. "It's... the scarf," he admits stiffly. "The veil. Whatever."

I stop looking at him, instead scowling down the road like him. "What about it?"

Ramza remains silent for a time, and I start to think he's not going to answer. Eventually, however, he sighs angrily. "It makes your eyes even prettier," he explains. "The beauty of the rest of your face is no longer there to distract one's attention."

Alicia crashes into my back and curses loudly. It takes me a moment to realize that this is because I've stopped in the middle of the road. Growling, I start moving again, stalking up past Ramza, who's stopped to watch me in confusion. He quickly scurries to catch up with me.

"Why do you say things like that?" I hiss at him, trying to keep my voice low so that the others can't overhear. "Why do you tease me?"

"You _asked_, Agrias," he sighs tiredly. "Leave me alone."

I blink, realizing he's right. If I'd left well enough alone, we'd have been fine.

This knowledge does nothing to soothe my temper. In addition to my smoldering anger, however, something else begins to claw from my stomach up through my throat, and I feel my eyes begin to sting. It's not fair. Why does he talk about beauty? Beauty is for seductresses and primped court ladies. I'm a Holy Knight and he does me a disservice by not treating me as such. In addition, I'm not beautiful, and he certainly knows it, so why does he lie? I assume it's not out of malevolence, but... the compliment is a sweet one, something a man might say to his wife, but his taunting turns its sweetness bitter.

No one's ever said anything like that to me without expecting me to swoon. Here Ramza said it because I made him, out of anger, and he expected nothing in return. He had no reason to tease me with compliments unless he wanted to placate my anger, which is not something he would have thought of.

So. He doesn't believe he's lying. Damn you, Ramza. My vision begins to blur, but I keep shuffling in a straight line along the road.

Some time later, he sighs again. "I'm sorry, Agrias. It's just... you seemed so mad, and I hadn't done anything."

I shake my head, not speaking; my voice would come out hoarse and husky, I know, and that would require more explanation than I care to do. He should understand what I mean even without words.

"Are you okay?" he continues earnestly. "I didn't mean..."

I turn to spare him a dark scowl, and he falls appropriately silent. I'm tempted to turn and leave him alone at point, but he's so unintimidating that there's really no point in leaving, since I'll be comfortable enough here as it is.

After forcing myself back into composure, I give him a discreet glance. "We don't need to talk about it anymore."

He nods, probably relieved that I didn't lash out at him. He's so odd; we've been travelling together for months now, and if he genuinely thinks that way of me, how is that he seems completely uninterested in doing anything about it? Not that I'm complaining -- far from it -- but it confuses me. Does he regard me as just a pretty... thing, like a statue or a trinket? Is that better or worse than the alternative? I'm not sure I know.

We walk for a time in silence. No one behind us says anything either. I begin to wonder uncomfortably how much they've heard.

Eventually he clears his throat. "I mean, it's not like I..."

"What did I _just finish saying?_" I ask, bewildered, and Ramza shrinks into himself in shame. I want to slap myself for how I'm acting, but instead I force myself to think, to calm down. I'm acting like a child and I need to fix that somehow. What would my mother do, I wonder idly, in a situation like this? If some random fellow had just complimented her beauty, and she was at least trying to be polite?

I swallow my anger, and not a little bit of pride, as best I can. "Ramza, I'm sorry," I say; my voice sounds small even to my ears. "And thank you."

Before he can say anything, I slow down to walk with Alicia and Lavian, who wisely keep any thoughts they might have to themselves. Why does this upset me? If any of the others -- say, Hannibal -- were to make a comment like Ramza's I'd have no problems at all. Perhaps it's because I know him better, and thus lend more weight in general to the things he says.

I'm half-tempted to take the damn scarf off, but I'm not going to let Ramza Beoulve make me change. Besides, it keeps the dust from the road out of my mouth, which is good. I wonder why I never thought of it before.

Gradually conversation springs up within the party, but it is muted; even apart from the awkward mood, these people are professionals and don't waste effort on speaking that could instead be used for walking. As we walk, the land begins to grow more empty. Trees disappear around midday and even grass does by midafternoon, leaving only the rocks and sand of Zeklaus Desert. We've been through here a half-dozen times before, so we've prepared properly, carrying plenty of water, but that doesn't make the murderous sun any easier to bear.

Interestingly, though, there is something that _does_ make the sun seem less harsh, and that is my new wardrobe. Walking through the desert without armor and wearing white is apparently a better strategy. Who knew?

That night, as Hannibal and Opal are setting up camp in the rapidly-cooling desert air, I choose to train with Ramza. He's a ninja now, so he's slippery and evasive, but my anger seems to express itself through my arms. It's not what I intended, but after an hour or so we're both covered in bruises.

As I thud another punch into his chest, he shuffles back and drops his practice blades to the ground, laughing heartily, amused at being beaten. "I think that's enough," he grins. "You're too much for me."

I smile uncomfortably, embarassed at having let my control slip, but I know he's fine. Shuffling closer to him, I focus my energy into a chakra, healing us both.

Ramza smiles and thanks me. I don't think he really gets it.

The rest of the journey to Lesalia is rather uneventful, except for a fight in Goland. I begin to wonder about Ramza, how he always seems to appear just as someone is about to be killed by a superior force of enemies. Is he charmed? Or just lucky? I don't know, and while Olan seems kind enough, he turns out to be heading in the other direction, and the group doesn't share more than a few words with him before parting ways.

As we walk into Lesalia the following day, I try not to keep my head down. Fewer people would recognize me if I did, I know, but it would also draw unneeded attention, especially here. Even as we're threading through the street crowds I can feel everyone's eyes on me, on us all, and I want to shiver. I don't, though.

A pair of St. Konoe Knights, two men I recognize, stroll grimly past us as we advance on the castle. Their cautious eyes examine our party briefly and slide right past me. I'm nobody, now.

There are soldiers everywhere in the city these days, it seems, mostly Hokuten, but also a scattering of others like Shrine Knights, St. Konoe and Touten. They all completely ignore us, and in a way it's pleasant having them there, since it distracts street attention from us; spies and gossip-mongers care more about the state of the troops now than they do about a random band of travellers such as ourselves.

We're allowed to enter the castle without a problem once Ramza identifies himself. Once we're inside, he turns to the rest of the party. "I'm going to find Zalbag," he explains, as nobles and officers stream impatiently past us in and out of the gate. "I'll meet you all in the eastern courtyard in two hours."

"I know where that is," I explain to everyone as the young Beoulve wanders off down a busy hallway. This place is as familiar to me as my own hands, but considerably more worrisome. "It's this way." As we walk, I keep an eye out for my mother, not that I expect to stumble across her in the whole huge castle, but a little extra caution never hurts. Hopefully she wouldn't recognize me in any case, but with parents, one can never be sure.

The courtyard hasn't changed much in the year or so since I've been there, I discover. It's still a green and flowering place, with ponds and a bubbling marble fountain in the shape of three fanciful creatures called dolphins. Birds abound in here too, birds of every size and color; their chatter is almost, but not quite, loud enough to be distracting. I vaguely wonder what the groundskeepers do to keep them here.

We shuffle into the green expanse and begin waiting. I try not to sigh impatiently as I make my way to a marble bench between flowering rosebushes. Their perfume lightly scents the air nearby, and as I sit I stare at them for a time. Flowers. I don't really care for them, generally, but they're... pretty. I can admit that. They're totally useless things, made solely to be smelled and admired, but the courtyard would not be the same without them.

Strange. Last time I was here, I don't think I noticed the rosebushes at all.

Ramza appears at the gate well before his allotted two hours have passed. Misery and frustration paint his face like artists' colors, and my heart sinks. I don't even need to ask how things went with Zalbag.

"Let's go," he sighs as everyone rises to approach him. "There's... nothing for us here. We'll have to think of something else."

Weariness pulls at a few faces around the party, but we all nod and shuffle out of the courtyard with him. There's not much else to do. Idly I begin thinking back to all the people I know in Lesalia, trying to think of anyone who might be able to help us. While a handful of names and faces do come to mind, none of them would be as influential as Zalbag Beoulve, and most would likely turn me in to St. Konoe anyway. I think I could pay that price if it were likely to help us at all, but I'm not going to forfeit my freedom and possibly my life for a wish and a dream.

Without elaborating on whatever happened with Zalbag, Ramza leads us to the back entrance of the castle. At the gate, though it's more like an ordinary doorway than a gate, he hesitates, then wanders outside alone. I recognize his wilted posture, the distant look on his face; he's thinking about something that troubles him.

Shuffling to a halt, I hold up a hand to the others, who nod and grin. They've seen him like this before as well. Smiling slightly, I lean against the inside of the doorway and rewrap the scarf around my face.

Almost immediately, the sound of approaching footsteps reaches my ears and grows quickly louder. Someone is running, someone wearing slippers, I believe, in place of boots. Presumably not Zalbag, then. A woman? Why would some woman be... did he forget something here and a servant is trying to bring it back before he leaves?

Before I can even form a plausible guess, a figure appears around a nearby corner, and it's Ramza in a red dress. No. It's a woman; of course it's a woman. My God. It's just that her face looks so much like his. I don't even need to ask to know that this is Alma. She's bolting towards us with naked worry creasing her features, the hem of her dress kicking forward with every running step, her golden hair bouncing in rhythm.

On seeing us she slows uncertainly, appproaching at a more reasonable speed. "Is... is Ramza with you?" she asks, slightly out of breath as she glances from face to face.

I nod. "Outside," I answer quietly.

Alma smiles warmly in gratitude, then stalks through the doorway after her brother. "Ramza, wait!"

From my perspective, I can see clearly as my friend hesitates, watching his sister approach. "Alma," he greets slowly; shame keeps his eyes down for some reason.

She steps forward in accusation. "You were going to leave without telling me?"

Ramza shifts. "I hate goodbyes."

I tighten my lips at this. I'm not surprised, really, but he ought to know better.

"You won't be back, will you?" Her voice is soft now, tense with pain that threatens to crack it.

Ramza opens his mouth to answer, then pauses as some other thought occurs to him. "Delita is alive," he says in a low voice, as though this explains everything.

Alma twitches. "What?"

"Delita helped kidnap the Princess," continues Ramza. His expression is an odd one as he studies his sister. I can't see what's on her face; her back is to me at the moment.

She hesitates. "What does this all mean?"

"I thought he joined Goltana to get back at us," he sighs, "but he seems to be involved more with someone else. Someone other than Delita saved the Princess from being killed for some scheme."

Alma hovers near her brother in apparent uncertainty. "Is it true Dycedarg was involved in the kidnapping?"

Ramza frowns, turning to face her full-on. "Yes," he answers plainly. "I'm sure he had his reasons, but I don't know them."

"So, Teta..." she continues fearfully. "Is it...?"

His face crumples as though the muscles there simply stopped cooperating. "Yes," he whispers.

Alma raises hands to her mouth, and I can hear a few muted sobs. I turn my face away, ashamed of watching. I never knew Teta Hyral, and though she died over a year ago, she was a real person whom they knew well. I don't share their grief, _can't_ share it, but I can give them a modicum of privacy.

Ramza's boots shuffle on the stone balcony, presumably as he nears her. "Alma, listen carefully. I don't know who's behind Delita, but he's dangerous. Taking advantage of the war to achieve something vicious."

Alma sniffles, and her voice is still muffled. "Is Delita party to the plot?"

"I don't know," admits Ramza. "He seemed to have his own ideas about things, though."

"You're fighting against them?" prompts Alma.

Ramza does not answer. I can almost see his guarded expression as he tries to find a way to deny it.

"I'll go with you." Alma's voice is suddenly resolute.

"Are you out of your mind?" exclaims Ramza. "Of course not!"

Why not, Ramza? I know Alma is likely a woman of little influence here despite her name, and she's your sister and you love her. We can keep her from harm if she wants to accompany us. Hell, keeping people from harm is what I do.

"I want to prove that what you're saying is true!" she insists.

"No," he groans, then repeats himself more forcefully. "No."

"I don't want to see another Teta!" Again Alma's voice takes on a sorrowful quality, and my own eyes tear in sympathy to her determination.

"Alma," sighs Ramza. I know he's going to give in. He's a sucker.

"Ramza Beoulve, aren't you?" booms a different voice, a man's voice. I can hear silk and leather alike shifting on stone as the siblings turn in surprise. "I'm Zalmo Lusnada, Heresy Examiner!" continues the newcomer, and my blood turns to ice. "I order you to appear at a heresy hearing on suspicion of murder and heresy! You will follow us! Any resistance will force us to execute you immediately!"

Oh, God. No. Not these guys.

"Heresy Examiner?" echoes Ramza, clearly baffled.

As he is speaking, I turn to the others near me. "I think we're needed."

"Run!" Alma's panicked voice floats through the doorway. "Brother!"

"I won't let you!" vows Zalmo. "Get him! Kill the 'heretic!'"

I run out to face this new menace, realizing I didn't hesitate at all to leap into a fight against men of the church. Vaulting past Ramza and over the low wall, I land in bumpy grass and run to meet the nearest enemy, a female monk. Out of the corner of my eye I see Ramza sprinting forward as well, twin edges in his hands. It's odd, watching his usual bumbling dumbness melt away as he shifts into the other Ramza, the battle Ramza. Odd and a little scary.

"Brother, run!" Alma continues to urge behind us. "Hurry! Those he takes never return! Run! Hurry!"

"You should run, Alma!" he counters, "or you, too, will be branded a 'heretic!' Hurry and run!"

"I can't leave you alone here!" she squawks, seemingly offended. A woman somewhere back there begins chanting; it could be Alma, or maybe it's Strawberry. Maybe both. I can't tell with the blood pounding in my ears.

The monk I'm fighting gets a solid strike past my defenses, shifting the bones in my chest, and without thought my hands blur in a practiced counterstrike, knuckles snapping into her throat. As her eyes widen, I seize the moment of respite I have and drive an open-handed strike into her solar plexus, shattering bone and shredding vital tissues. She falls with a strangled cry.

More shouting sounds from all around -- I think Zalmo is offering Ramza a chance to give up, more the fool him -- but the words slip past me as a knight's blade seeks my blood. He almost gets it, too; I can feel the tug from where it cut a lock of my hair. Damn. Diving past the man and rolling to my feet behind him, I level a thunderous punch into the back of his armor, creating a dent and sending him stumbling forwards. Happily, a grinning Ironside is there to catch him. A blade flashes, and the knight drops in a crunch of metal.

In my brief moment of freedom, I spin, searching for Zalmo and hoping he's close enough to be hit with a wave fist, but all I see is the man's back as he runs away, followers a step behind him. Crap. Well, we'll finish them the next time they come for us.

My eyes drift down to the bodies on the ground near me. Somehow, killing people with my bare hands produces a more visceral reaction in me than using a weapon. I suppose when I'm fighting someone with a sword, not to mention using my Holy Sword skills, I don't feel every bone cracking, don't feel rippling flesh and the spray of blood every time I land a blow. A body that falls from a Lightning Stab looks somehow more dignified than someone who's had their ribcage ruptured from a vicious punch. God, do I hate killing.

"Are you alright?" asks Alma of Ramza as the rest of us slump in relief at being alive. All around, the dead begin turning into beautiful crystals.

"Yeah," answers Ramza, "so we're both okay." He pauses. "How'd the examiner find out about the Holy Stone? Maybe it was someone behind Delita or Glabados Church? But why would the church...?"

"Holy stone?" repeats Alma in astonishment, her voice breathless. "You mean the legendary Holy Stone? It really exists? Then, maybe I've seen it..."

Ramza gapes at her and I do likewise. "What?" he gasps. "Where?"

Alma tilts her head in calculation. "Promise to take me with you?"

Her brother turns his back on her. "Don't be ridiculous. You'd have a terrible time. No! I won't take you."

Alma spins about as well, crossing arms petulantly over her chest. "Okay, then I won't tell you!" My God, she's just like him.

Groaning, Ramza turns back to face her, spreading his arms out in pleading. "Come on," he sighs, "don't play games. You might get killed!"

"It may be too late already," she reasons, "because you disobeyed him. By now I'm probably a heretic, a fugitive like you. Dycedarg may desert me to protect Beoulve."

"He's capable of that," mutters Ramza. Then he shakes his head. "No, it's too dangerous. Explain it to Zalbag and get permission from the church!"

Yeah, great idea, Ramza. Tell the church who just tried to kill you that you're going to steal a holy stone from them, and then ask their help in doing it. Your sister knows you're flailing and so do the rest of us. I can see Strawberry near the doorway, rolling her eyes.

"I saw it at Orbonne Monastery," muses Alma. "Yes... a crystal with a carved Virgo crest." She seems more at ease now, perhaps likewise understanding that the matter has already been resolved in her favor.

"Virgo," repeats Ramza thoughtfully. "Before it passes into their hands..." He trails off into silence, then seems to snap back. "Thanks for telling me. Now, go back to Zalbag!"

"How do you get into Orbonne?" wonders Alma slyly. "You're a heretic. You can't go into a monastery of Glabados. There's no way!"

Ramza blinks. Didn't see that one coming, did you, Beoulve? "Uh..." He casts about for a suitable response.

"See?" presses his sister. "You do need me, don't you?"

"Only as far as Orbonne, alright?" he grumps. "Then you go back."

"Alright," she shrugs. She knows.

"Promise me!" growls Ramza.

Alma purses her lips. Whatever her response, I can't hear it over the hiss of the crystal from the monk I killed. My cuts and bruises disappear instantly, and I can feel the bones in my chest all shifting back into place. Oh, that's much better.

Needless to say, we make haste away from Lesalia Castle. Ramza and Alma argue briefly about how she is to travel until the girl finally accedes to riding on Boco, since her apparel is not particularly well-suited to travelling. After that, and after the introductions, there is little conversation on the road and we march largely as usual, though Alma shares point with Ramza and myself.

Only when Lesalia's grand banners have been hidden by tree-studded hills for a few hours do we slow. At the top of one in particular, Ramza glances a silent question at me and I nod. He turns, veering off into the trees and the rest of us follow. Perhaps a hundred paces off the road, we find a small needle-blanketed clearing and he eyes me. "Here, do you think?"

"We'd be hard-pressed to find better," I answer absently. Lavian helps Alma from Boco and begins tending to the bird. All around, the rest of the group unloads after a day of travel, sighing as they stretch backs and legs.

Ramza makes a beeline towards his sister. "Are you okay, Alma? Are you tired or anything?"

The girl pokes him in the chest. "I spent a half-day in a saddle, Ramza. I'm fine. How are _you_?"

"I'm fine," he echoes, somewhat grumpily. Alma snickers.

No one bothers to clear a space for a fire; the purpose of camping out of sight of the road would be defeated if we put a column of smoke above us like a giant arrow in the sky. While I don't think it's likely there's a party of Heresy Examiners following us, I agree with Ramza's idea to keep ourselves hidden.

Soon the whisper of blade on blade reaches my ears; Ironside and Opal are sparring, testing one another's skills and reflexes. Before long Hannibal and Alicia join them, fist against dagger. Elsewhere, Lavian sits with Strawberry, almost certainly discussing magical matters I probably wouldn't understand. Mustadio sits near the two spellcasters, cleaning his gun and making the occasional comment in their conversation, while Alma rummages through our supplies, looking for food.

Ramza glances at me, hands on his twin blades, but his gaze is distant; usually it's eager when the prospect for practice is before him. I shuffle to meet him. "What's troubling you?" I ask quietly. "Is it Zalbag?" I know I was angry at him earlier today, but it seems like last week for some reason. I suppose finding that Glabados Church wants to torture him to death puts everything in a little perspective.

He blinks at me, then offers a weak grin. "A little, yes, but I'm not too surprised about him. What's bothering me more... well, you'll laugh if I tell you." He sighs, shaking his head, and starts to turn away.

I catch his arm to stop him, aware of Alma's quiet eyes on us. "Don't be silly. What is it?"

Ramza frowns at me for a moment, then heaves another sigh. "It's... Zalmo," he explains awkwardly. "Even as we were fighting, he was trying to offer me a way out. It reminded me of Gafgarion."

I twitch at this. "Gafgarion? Why?"

"Every time I fought him, he tried to get me to join him instead," he continues. "Well, every time but the last. He yelled a lot, and complained about me, but I think he liked me. I don't think he wanted to kill me."

"But he did, or tried to," I remind him. "Don't forget that."

Ramza shakes his head again. "I'm not. It's just that... all these people are my enemies, and they don't have to be, and it seems like if I could just talk to them long enough to explain things, we wouldn't have to fight."

My God. I respect his optimism, but he's so... innocent, it hurts my heart. "Ramza..." I bite my lips, staring at the ground until I can think of something to say. "Don't worry about it," I advise him finally, keeping my voice quiet. "You're doing all you can, and if people still want to fight you, there's nothing you can do. You can't let someone sway you just so that you can avoid fighting."

"I know," he answers tiredly. "It's probably easy for you -- you're so strong -- but I'm tempted every time. I worry that I'll slip."

I shake my head firmly, reaching to grip his shoulder. "Don't. Every time you choose the more difficult path, I'll walk it with you. You know that, right?"

There is happiness in his answering smile, a contented joy that warms me and unnerves me at the same time. "I know, Agrias. Thank you."

Letting him go, I nod briskly. "Do you want to train, then?"

Ramza laughs, turning to root through the supplies for a pair of dull ninja blades. "Of course. You'll probably knock me around again, but it'll be worth it."

"Don't be so sure," I warn him seriously. "You're good."

* * *

The next day, I rise early and steal off to switch back into my normal clothes, the blue coat and breeches. By the time I get back to the camp, everyone else is up, and we resume our course towards Orbonne with little delay. Once again, Alma guides Boco to ride alongside Ramza and myself as we march down the packed-dirt road between Lesalia and Goland. 

"So tell me again," says Alma as the sun sparkles cheerfully down on us, "what happened with Cardinal Draclau. Why did you call him Queklain?"

Ramza sighs beside her. He seems to sigh often. "The stone's power transformed him in front of us," he explains. "There was all this light and noise, and when it all cleared a... demon was there in his place. It looked like twisted copy of the drawings of Queklain you see in old history books."

"So the stones are evil?" reasons Alma, frowning. "Why would the church hold them in such reverence, then?"

"I don't know if they're evil," shrugs Ramza. "I mean, we have two with us and they just sit there like ordinary rocks. They can be _used_ for evil, and they're certainly not as holy as I'd been taught. I'll leave it at that."

"Hmm." Alma falls into a thoughtful silence. I note that neither of them brought up the possibility of the church simply not knowing the secret of the stones' power, and rightfully so; Ramza is quick to believe well of others, but even he knows better about the church by now.

After it becomes clear that their conversation is done for the moment, I poke Ramza's shoulder. "Are you two twins?"

He jumps in surprise and Alma laughs, clapping her hands together. "Oh, no," she answers, giggling. "He's a year older."

"Yeah," agrees Ramza absently, apparently confused. "Why do you ask?"

I shrug uncomfortably. "You just... I don't know. Never mind."

Alma giggles again, twisting to regard her brother fondly. Her gaze soon shifts to include me, and her smile remains. "How long have you two been together, then?"

Ramza's face screws up in thought as he glances at me. "Three... maybe four months now, I think," he answers, a note of question in his voice as though he's waiting for me to confirm his words.

I smile at the dirt in front of my advancing boots. "I think she's asking about something else." God. Why do people think that about us? Hannibal's made a number of suggestions about it before as well.

"Oh," he replies flatly, then his face registers alarm. "Oh! No, we're not... it's not like that," he explains hastily.

Alma's laugh has nothing of malice in it, but I feel my cheeks heating nonetheless. I'm a grown woman and such things shouldn't embarass me, I know, but I still feel like she's laughing at us instead of at her own misperception. Glancing sideways at Ramza, I find him sharing my discomfort, but neither of us chooses to say anything.

This topic does not arise during the rest of the day's journey, fortunately, and we make camp a few hours west of Goland. No discomfiting conversations arise after we make camp, and I'm vaguely surprised to find that I'm in few conversations at all; Ramza has chosen to stay at Alma's side as though stuck there. Not that I blame him, really; they're clearly very close, and I doubt they see each other that often now. She's a glowingly pleasant person, so I can't really hold her at fault for it in any way.

It's odd, but having Alma around reminds me of how little I know the rest of the party. With Ramza as good as missing, I've no one to talk to but everyone else. Alicia and Lavian I know better than the rest, of course, but Lavian seems a bit put out as well, and Alicia is giggling as she chats with Hannibal and Ironside.

No matter. It's a good opportunity to go off and say my prayers. I've been doing so rather less often of late; I suppose my enthusiasm for all things religious has waned somewhat, given what I now know of the church. Even so, I find that it still serves to soothe my noisy mind.

The next day passes similarly uneventfully, save for a surprise fight against a handful of monsters in the desert, which barely slows us down. Southward we head towards Dorter and our ultimate destination at the moment, Orbonne Monastery.

When we reach Dorter the following day, we pass right through. I'm a little miffed at that, but Virgo is important and all, so I don't say anything. Then, I once again find myself in that odd backwater section of the world between Dorter and Orbonne. I think we're still in Lesalia -- half of Ivalice is, it seems -- but we're close to Gallione, and in such a remote place the border can tend to fuzz.

Not that it matters, really. It's just something to think about as we hike through miles and miles of trees.

Eventually we make it to the monastery, at first just a narrow stone steeple rising through the trees but soon growing into a solid building in its own right. As the woods gradually part to reveal the structure, I can feel my lips tighten of their own accord at the memory of the day I first lost Ovelia.

It occurs to me now that I'm probably never going to see her again. I hope... I hope she does well and keeps at least some of her innocence.

"Something's wrong," declares Alma suddenly. "The doors are open."

I blink away my reverie, frowning at the front of the monastery. She's right; something has happened, something bad. Is anyone even alive inside? Are we too late?

Without further communication the party speeds up, running towards the monastery. As we near the door, Alma hops expertly from Boco's saddle, leaving the bird to trot to a halt, then joins us as we run inside. Shadows blind me momentarily until my eyes grow accustomed to the interior dimness; afterwards I see a main hallway leading into the building, with doorways branching off at regular intervals. The place hasn't changed since I was here last, not that I would have expected it to.

"Split up!" orders Ramza as the last of the party darts inside the monastery. "See if anyone's here!" Immediately he bolts straight ahead with Alma.

I take the first doorway to my left, a thing that leads into a short hallway. I know the kitchens are down this way, as well as a handful of storage areas. I'm not sure why I chose this part of the monastery to search; perhaps because it was the first.

Alicia splits off with me, and together we jog through the eerily-quiet structure, peering through archways and kicking doors in as we go. The first room I find is a storage closet with nothing in it. I sigh. Next is a little place full of brooms. Then nothing again. Nothing. A pair of crystals next to the door. Nothing. Nothing.

"Simon!" Alma's muffled shout echoes distantly through the building.

"I don't think we're going to find anything here," mutters Alicia as we hurry through the kitchen. "Let's see what they're up to."

I nod, letting a pantry door fall shut and hurrying back the way we came. More voices bounce brokenly in our direction from somewhere, growing vaguely louder as we proceed. Ironside and Lavian join us as we run.

In moments we aproach the stairs to the underground library and a cold fist clenches my heart. There, amid a handful of dead or dying priests, Ramza and Alma are clutching the wounded form of Simon. My God, maybe we are too late... but he's clearly alive, still.

"...a fugitive," Ramza is saying in a low, intent voice, "branded by the church as a 'heretic.' Is it because of the stone? Please tell me. Who are they?"

A look of pain crosses Simon's aged face, and I doubt that it has much to do with his injuries. "The High Priest and his sect are trying to regain power. First, they're reducing Larg and Goltana's military power by causing in-fighting. If the war drags on, it not only reduce their power, but trust in the royal family."

Ramza grimaces. "What's the real reason for collecting the Stones and reviving the Zodiac Braves?"

Simon rasps a chuckle. "To gain the people's trust, of course."

"But the Cardinal already joined Lucavi," notes Ramza, glancing down towards the stairs as though in a rush to run down there. "If it's only the stone's power, it'd be strong enough to replace the military. Funeral wants that power?"

The old priest's answering smile is kind, almost indulgent. "You're different from your brothers," he observes softly. "More like Balbanes. Perhaps you might be able to destroy their ambition."

A look of sorrow crosses Ramza's face, though determination quickly replaces it as he stands upright. "You stay here," he commands Alma firmly. "I'll go after them."

She bristles. "I'll go with you!"

"We can't leave Simon alone," counters Ramza. "Hide in a safe place!"

For a moment the two siblings lock gazes, though eventually Alma nods. "Okay, I will."

Ramza exhales in relief. Reaching into his garments, he produces the two glittering holy stones in our party's possession. "Hold onto these stones," he instructs, "just in case. If I don't come back, make sure to throw them into the Bugrosa Sea."

Alma recoils at his severe words, then glances helplessly away. "I regret I can't help you," she sighs quietly. "I wish I were born a man."

"Don't be silly," scoffs Ramza, turning to stare absently down towards the stairs again. "You're the only one I trust."

I find myself sharing startled glances with the rest of the party. Doesn't he trust us? Perhaps... he doesn't always think before he says things. Perhaps he was only speaking of his siblings.

Alma swallows, apparently similarly affected by his words. "Brother," she whispers.

"Take care of Simon," calls Ramza as he turns his back on the pair, striding for the sheltered stairway. Alma stares after him.

The rest of us hurry along, though I pause to touch the young woman's shoulder in concern, receiving a reassuring smile in return. Nodding, I fall in behind Opal, hopping down the stairs with the others.

As we file out into the library below, the people in the front pause; belatedly I notice a handful of Shrine Knights facing us ahead, lancers, a chemist and a pair of time mages. Ramza draws his blades, scowling down at them. "It's not over yet!" he declares, loudly enough for our enemies to hear. "Never give them the Stone!"

I wonder vaguely what he's talking about. Perhaps he means to mislead them into thinking we have only one, or that he hasn't handed both of ours off to Alma already?

I have little enough time to think about it, as the battle is joining even as I watch. Sliding past Opal, I run and leap off the ledge, flipping to land on my feet next to one of the lancers. It's funny; I never would have suspected I was capable of such agility back when I wore heavy armor around all the time. I'll have to keep that in mind once I put it back on.

As the startled Shrine Knight twitches, trying to watch me as well as the others on his opposite side, I choose a moment when his attention is distracted, then deliver a punch that surely breaks several bones in his torso. The man grunts, dropping to one knee, and Ramza seizes the opportunity to open the man's throat.

While the body is still falling to the stairs, I leap down and bat wildly to deflect another pair of spears seeking my ribs. Ironside appears from nowhere, hacking at one of the lancers, while chanting from above quickly turns into a vicious lightning bolt that fells the chemist.

The fight ends up taking only a few moments. On our side, Ramza and myself were the only ones to take wounds, and they disappear as soon as the enemy dead vanish into their respective crystals.

A man's voice echoes from somewhere down below. "Wow! Is this Virgo? How beautiful!"

Ramza glances at me, baring his teeth in alarm. "Underground! Let's go!"

This time I am right by his side as we sprint down the next set of narrow stairs. In moments we're dumped out into another floor of the library, and I fight the urge to curse. The monastery's inhabitants have arranged this place to look like a maze, it seems. Why would anyone do that? Don't they need to...

"I didn't expect you to find us here!" calls a man's voice. I recognize it vaguely from my time in Lesalia; it's Izlude Tingel, Vormav's son. "But just in time. Heretic Ramza, hand us the stone!"

Ramza twitches beside me. "No," he calls out, "why don't you give me yours? Do as I say and I'll let you live!"

I grunt. He's trying to talk like all his enemies now. I don't know if I should try to stop him.

"You think you can beat us?" laughs Izlude. "Then I'll take it by force!"

Not another one of these conversations. I sigh, trying to tune out the words the men are bandying back and forth as I leap onto the nearest bookshelf and start running along its length. There are Shrine Knights everywhere, it seems, but I can spot Izlude at the far side of this floor, sprinting towards us.

Before I can aim a wave fist at the man, he leaps impossibly high into the air, flipping lazily as he sails across the room. Crap. I forgot these guys can do that. Settling on a nearby knight instead, I drop behind the hapless fellow and bring him to his knees with a single punch.

Quickly Izlude lands on his target, the startled Ironside, then vaults back to where he'd been standing a moment before. Ironside staggers, but remains upright. I give him silent credit for that.

Eventually Ramza manages to leap to Izlude's side and scores a nasty gash across his stomach. I ghost up to his back and bruise my knuckles on his breastplate, but the blow knocks him to the ground.

"Damn!" gasps Izlude, seemingly more to himself than to the rest of us. "I refuse to acknowledge his power! I can't die... I must bring the stone back!" He twitches, returning to the situation and glaring at us. "Ramza, the next time I see you will be your last! Remember that!" Leaping to his feet, he displays a surprising reserve of energy and bolts between Ramza and me, sprinting towards the stairs.

"Wait!" calls Ramza helplessly, running after the man. "Izlude!"

I follow, as does the rest of the party. The library rushes past, a blur of books and shelves. I dislike fighting here, not even because it's a monastery, but because some of these texts are unique in the world, and I don't want to see them damaged.

I think we manage to lose sight of Izlude, but shortly we stop anyway, having run into another setup ready to face us. How many Shrine Knights came here, anyway? I'm getting tired of them.

"Miluda!" shouts a man in grand gold-and-scarlet armor. "Finally I can avenge your death!"

My God. It's Wiegraf.

"Wiegraf!" Ramza echoes my thoughts as we and the Knights race to battle each other through a little doorway. "You're still alive!"

"Been a long time, Ramza," laughs the other man harshly. "Glad to see you again!"

Ramza scowls as he hops up onto a ledge. "You've become a dog for the church and have forsaken your ideals!"

I sigh, shaking my head as I aim a wave fist through the wall to where my senses tell me an enemy is waiting. Ramza is skilled at many things, but I don't think conversation is among them.

Ramza, true to form, rushes through to hack at Wiegraf with his twin blades, scoring one solid hit. The other man counters with a slash that leaves a deep wound in Ramza's side. Off to one side, a line of force explodes into the Shrine Knights from Opal's outstretched fist, felling a swordswoman.

Eventually I manage to wriggle past Ramza, who's now bleeding freely, and crack a punch into Wiegraf's helmeted head. The former Death Corps captain drops to his hands and knees, coughing.

"No," he gasps. "I won't lose! I'm a member of Zodiac Braves... with Aries! I can't... lose like this!" With a shaking hand he clutches something in his garments -- the stone, probably -- and disappears in a flash of fractured light.

Seeing this, the remaining Knights turn and break for the stairs. I probably would too, in their situation.

"Where are you!" calls Ramza angrily, pausing long enough to let me heal him. "Wiegraf!" Without another word he, too, runs for the stairs.

Again the rest of the party follows. Up and up we run, but wherever Wiegraf and the remaining Knights have gone, it does not appear to be within the monastery.

As we bolt out the door, Ramza skids to a halt. "Alma!" he calls, his voice breaking in despair. "Wait! Izlude!" Too late, I see the named knight bolt away on a golden chocobo, the unconscious Alma thrown over the bird much as Ovelia was when Delita took her.

Beside where Izlude had been, a bleeding and broken Wiegraf is lying on the stone surface marking the roof of the underground library. He's muttering something I can't hear, reaching futilely outwards. Good; he's finally dea...

A purple stone lifts itself into the air before him and begins to speak. The light all around us seems to dim as though a storm is brewing, and indeed it shortly begins to rain.

Oh my god. Oh my god oh my god oh my god. It's _talking_ to him.

I glance around me at the shocked faces in the rest of the group. No one seems capable of moving, and after darting another look at the scene before us, I admit that perhaps disturbing whatever is happening with the stone is not a great idea. As the stone... speaks... it emanates some piercing shriek, a sound that bores into my head and makes me think of bells. Hidden lightning flashes somewhere in the new clouds above.

Eventually the stone explodes in a crackling sphere of violet light. When my tearing eyes clear, Wiegraf is gone -- though his blood still slicks the stone -- and in his place stands a... thing. A demon. If some demented sorceror mixed a sheep and a man, and then gave it an extra pair of arms and enough strength to rip my arms off without trying, it would look like this thing.

_I am Velius_, whispers a voice. _The devil._

"Wiegraf?" croaks Ramza. Even though his back is turned to me, I can picture the look of abject astonishment on his face.

The Zodiac demon turns to face him eagerly. "Ramza," it begins in a deep, menacing voice, "its power is magnificent! No, not just the power. Centuries of knowledge ingrained into my brain."

Ramza snaps from some reverie, drawing his edges. He's shaking, I see.

Velius merely laughs. "Save some for later!" he advises. "Ha... superb. Superb power!" As his words still echo in the air, the demon vanishes.

Noise from within the monastery catches my attention, and I turn numbly to find Simon staggering out into the rain. The old priest falls to one knee, shaking his head to clear it. He hasn't got much left in him, I fear.

"Simon!" calls Ramza, hurrying to the old man's side. I kneel down beside Simon as well, supporting his frail frame.

"H... here," coughs the priest, producing a thick leather-bound book from under his robes somewhere. In shaking hands he holds the volume out to Ramza.

The younger man accepts it uncertainly, trying to shield it under his body from the rain. "What is this book?"

Simon shifts. "Germonik, a disciple of St. Ajora wrote it," he explains weakly. "It had been missing, until I found it in the underground library. It explains in detail about the Zodiac Brave Story..."

Ramza holds a gentle hand out, stopping him. "Please," he urges, "don't try to talk."

I'm too stunned to do anything but stare. The Germonik Scriptures? There's no way. No way in hell. The were supposed to have been lost, even burned, centuries ago. But Simon wouldn't lie, and the book does indeed look quite old. In a way, it's more surprising than even finding a Zodiac Stone; they, at least, are more or less known to everyone, even if few believe in them, but only historians and theologians have heard of the Scriptures, and to a man they disavow its current existence.

Simon smiles, the peaceful expression of a man seeing his torments end along with his life. I've seen it before and it makes me want to cry every time. "That's alright," he answers mildly. "I'm a sinner; I knew of the church's wrongdoing, but said nothing. You can bring them to justice with this book. You can bring Alma back with this book."

Ramza tightens his grip on the old man's arms as though to make sure death doesn't physically snatch him away. "Simon!"

The priest's smile widens. "Whew," he chuckles self-consciously. "Now I can finally rest. Take care of the rest, Ramza. You're just like Balbanes... when he was young." His eyes sparkle a moment longer, almost happily, before he slumps in his final slumber.

Ramza shifts the other man again as if to wake him. "Simon!" Tears are streaming down his face now.

I open my mouth to explain that Simon isn't going to answer anymore, but close it again. There are times to speak, and times not to; I like to think I know which is which.

"Damn it!" shouts Ramza at nothing, eyes squeezed shut. Standing abruptly, he spins on his heel and simply stands there quivering. "Damn it! God damn it!"

Moisture stings my eyes as I stand there watching him helplessly. My heart goes out to him. I know exactly what he's thinking: we came here to retrieve a holy stone but ended up _losing_ two, and then to top it all off lost Alma, the only person in Ramza's world who is worthy of complete and utter trust.

Swallowing, I turn back to face the others, touching Lavian's shoulder gently. "Someone should find Boco," I suggest. "He probably wandered off in search of food." The mage-in-training nods, as does Ironside, and together they stroll off around the monastery.

"God damn it!" shouts Ramza again, his voice cracking. Something thuds hollowly.

Frowning, I turn back around to find him a short distance away, punching the base of an old pine tree, one of those where the branches don't even start until twenty paces off the ground. "Damn it!" he shouts again, punctuating his words with another punch.

Lips thinned, I cross arms over my chest and step quietly towards him, listening as he continues his cursing rampage, punching the tree each time. By the time I reach him, a gentle rain of soft green needles is falling along with the _actual_ rain.

Without saying anything I touch his arm. Ramza falls silent in mid-shout, whirling to face me with a wild look in his eyes, and for a moment I fear he might lash out at me. Then recognition dawns in his face; his eyes well with tears and he drops to his knees.

"Agrias," he whispers at his knees, "I'm lost. I don't... I don't know what to..."

I kneel beside him. "Ramza, we'll get her back."

He laughs bitterly, not lifting his face to meet my eyes. "How?" he wonders. "How in the world are we going to do that? She's gone. My sister is gone."

I point to the book still in his left hand. "Ramza, that book is priceless. I don't know what's in it, exactly, but there's a very great deal the church would do to keep it from getting out. They won't keep her for long if they know you have it."

"What do they care?" he sighs brokenly. "I'm a heretic. Anything I say, they'll just call it a lie I've crafted in order to make them look bad."

"I doubt that," I reply evenly. "There are tales, and then there are tales backed up by an ancient book you can show people. And anyway," I add as he opens his mouth to argue again, "they're Shrine Knights. There are only a handful of places they could possibly have taken her." Murond tops that list, certainly, but they have a few strongholds elsewhere.

Finally he looks at me, his expression serious if haunted. "You know," he muses, "that's true." He falls silent for a time, just staring at me. "Do you mean it? Do you really think we can get her back?"

"Of course." Attacking a Shrine Knight hold, if it comes to that, won't be easy, but their numbers are few, and we did well enough against them today. "In fact, if they know you have the book, I wouldn't be surprised if they contact you and _tell_ you where she is, just to get you to come to them."

He chuckles. "That's true," he admits, "or at least possible." His gaze wanders from mine as though he's having trouble looking at me again, but before I can question him on it, he leans in to give me a tight hug.

I blink for a moment, then return it, smiling. An odd warmth glows in my heart and begins spreading through the rest of my body; for once, when someone needs me, I'm able to offer genuine help. As a friend. It's nice to be needed for something other than fighting.

"You're right," he says again, this time with the usual eagerness in his voice. "We'll find her."

I hold the embrace a moment longer, then draw back to offer him a smile. "I'll get the others."


	7. Chapter 7: Faith And Nails

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy Tactics or any of the characters therein. I am using them without permission and will cease to do so if asked. Please don't sue.

* * *

Chapter Seven: Faith And Nails 

After leaving the now-empty Orbonne Monastery, we march towards Dorter with grim intensity. Ramza takes point, as he always does, though today his face is tight in determination. Under a raincloak, he clutches the Germonik Scriptures fiercely as though it were Alma herself. And perhaps it is, to him; certainly there is nothing else in the world more likely to bring her back to him. At least, assuming we can find someone to threaten with it; right now Ramza is running blindly, hoping to blunder into a Shrine Knight or someone from the church. He is a man with a hammer, searching desperately for a nail.

When twilight falls to darkness and we decide to make camp, thunder is still rumbling above and rain still hisses into the trees all around. "We'll never make a fire in this," grumbles Alicia, squinting at the shadowy sky as we're unlimbering packs and pouches.

Mustadio laughs quietly. "At least let me try before you say that."

"Be my guest," she shrugs, shivering faintly. "It's not like we're short of wood to burn around here." Ironside chuckles quietly.

Muted flashes of gold flicker through the trees from lightning somewhere above, and heartbeats later a roll of thunder hums through my bones, barely audible above the surrounding rainfall. I take shelter under pine boughs and watch as the rest of the party goes about its tasks for the night. Mustadio is gathering kindling, I note; though I'm not as pessimistic as Alicia about his chances of making a fire tonight, I'm far from convinced.

Ramza, I see, is simply standing in place, scowling at nothing. As I watch, Opal melts out of the shadows and pokes him in the shoulder. He seems to snap awake, and the two share brief words before Opal disappears again. Perhaps she is scouting the area. A short distance away, Hannibal shakes himself violently like a dog trying to dry itself.

Moments later, Mustadio emerges from the trees with an armful of sticks and fallen branches. At his request, Strawberry kicks clear a section of ground under a thick ceiling of tree branches, and the mechanic tosses his wooden treasure to the forest floor. Squatting on his heels, he produces his matches and begins a valiant attempt at fire-making.

Soon orange light is flickering in the makeshift firepit, and Mustadio cackles in triumph. Impressed, I nod at Lavian, and the two of us set about tying a spare cloak above the nascent fire to shield it even better against the rainfall. Eventually we manage to make it fairly stable, then squat in the mud under the thing where it's slightly less wet. Mustadio's fire is burning steadily now, but it's quite smoky; no wonder, since there's undoubtedly not a dry piece of wood for miles around.

Ramza joins us shortly, as do most of the others. My renegade friend sits in a stony silence, staring at the leather-bound book in his lap.

Eventually I nudge him. "Do you want to read that? The fire might give us just enough light."

He turns a blank look on me, then blinks several times before nodding. "Yes. Yes, that might be... might be a good idea."

"I want to see what it says, too," states Strawberry firmly. "Can you read it aloud?"

Ramza nods curtly, then squirms closer to the fire and flips the volume open. The text within appears to be of varying ages, as though some of it represents more recent notes to older material. After a moment, he turns a page, hazel eyes scanning the lines until he finds a suitable starting place.

"Okay, here," he mutters, then clears his throat. "'This is written by a follower of Saint Ajora, Germonik,'" he begins. "'Enclosed is the chronicle of the most holy Child of God, whom in my foolishness I have betrayed to his most untimely execution at the hands of...'"

I settle myself, getting comfortable as he reads. And reads. And continues to read.

For some two hours, by my rough guess, he reads from the Scriptures, voicing ancient Germonik's remorseful words describing the life of Ajora Glabados, the founder of the church that today still bears his name. At several points during the recitation I realize my mouth is gaping open and snap it closed, but even that reaction is understated considering the staggering surprises contained within these yellowing pages.

Most shockingly, Germonik makes no mention of Ajora's divinity. In fact, the disciple states several times that Ajora was simply a man, a religious philosopher whose teachings earned himself the anger of virtually every government he encountered. Apparently the closest Ajora came to any divine power was by collecting the Zodiac Braves himself, in order to battle some evil spirit the king of Limberry had summoned, but it doesn't sound like Germonik actually witnessed this himself.

By the time Ramza reads that, in addition to being a priest and teacher, Ajora was also a spy, I lose the capacity for being surprised. After that, I simply sit motionless and listen.

Even in the aftermath of Ajora's execution, it seems his church behaved much like it does now. Inconvenient and dissident facts, like people, were hunted down and eliminated, leaving only a glowing core of falsehood, an entire religion based on the lie that Ajora was divine.

When Ramza finally closes the book in reverent gentleness, I surprise myself by laughing. He spares me an odd look, but it only makes me laugh harder, and I keep laughing until tears blur my vision. It's just so absurd. Everything I know is a lie. My knighthood, everything I am, is built on a foundation of mud and refuse, the select half-truths and chosen lies that the church has seen fit to distribute to the unthinking masses.

Still laughing, though now I'm gasping for breath occasionally, I climb to my feet and stumble into the rain. The sudden absence of the fire leaves me chilled, but I barely have the mind to notice it.

Branches slap my face in the darkness and the rain washes my tears away as I wander blindly into the woods. Some unmeasured time later I stop, glancing around wildly. My sword is in my hands, I realize absently. With a shrill laugh, I draw it and slice it forward in a random direction. Lightning hammers down, splitting one tree and making a mess of the ground all around. Little tongues of flame lick up the exposed edges of the pine I destroyed, though the rain is quickly turning them to steam.

Well. It's good to know I didn't lose my powers along with my faith. I giggle some more.

"Agrias?" asks a voice behind me. "Are you well?"

I turn to face Ramza, aware of a grin splitting my face. "I'm wonderful!" I answer brightly. "I'm b-better th-than I've ev... ever... b-b-b..." I'm shivering, I realize; my clattering teeth are making it impossible to speak. My breath is coming in short little gasps, and I can feel my eyes grow wider as I gaze at him.

"Agrias?" he asks again. His voice has assumed a bizarre, dreamlike quality. It's funny how concerned he is. I'm totally fine.

I try to laugh again, but I don't have the breath for it. Something cold and wet presses into my face; I have just enough mind left to realize it's the ground.

* * *

When I next wake up, it's no longer raining, though it's still dark. It must be cloudy as well, I note absently, because the sky I can see between the tree branches above is jet-black, lacking the diamond pinpricks of stars. I know without looking that the fire has gone out as well; the world is now comprised of shadows layered in the silence. I smile sadly at how pretty it is. 

Clothing shifts nearby. "Agrias? Are you awake?"

"Ramza?" I blink, then sit bolt upright, spinning around to face him, though I can barely make out his face in the darkness. "What... where are...?"

"We're still in the camp," he answers my unfinished question. His voice is soft, his tone a gentle one I might expect to hear between lovers after a terrible quarrel, all pretense gone. "It's... probably a couple of hours before dawn."

My lips compress as I eye him sharply. "You didn't stay up with me, did you?"

Cloth shifts again. "I... I did," he answers, almost apologetically.

I close my eyes against a faint stinging growing in them. He's so thoughtful. "You didn't have to do that," I admonish in a whisper. "Go ahead and get some sleep now. I'll stay up."

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," he explains. "Are you? You scared me half to death back there."

I can feel my lips curve at his concern. "I'm fine, Ramza. Thank you for thinking of me."

He does not answer, nor does he rise. Silence falls between us, but not an awkward silence.

I really _do _feel fine, I discover upon reflection. I feel... solid. Calm. The storm has passed. It's as though some... some weight has disappeared from my shoulders, which confuses me until I realize I no longer have to worry about the church's behavior. Well, I do, in that they're a player in the game, but all the corruption and villainy in the world can't further taint a religion that's already a lie. I can battle them now with a clean mind and a pure spirit, if I have to.

"Do you still believe?" asks Ramza quietly. I can't make out his expression but his voice is troubled.

"What do you mean?" I counter. "In Glabados? In God?"

"Either," he shrugs. "Both."

"Not in Glabados, of course," I answer, thinking. As shocking as the contents of the Scriptures are, there can be little doubt about the book's historical authenticity. Ajora Glabados was just a man, like... like Ramza, kind of. "As for God... I don't know." I chuckle silently. "I suppose so. Germonik didn't mention God at all, except to say that Ajora wasn't him. What about you?"

Ramza sighs. "I don't know either, really. I mean, like you, I don't believe in the church at all anymore. I don't know what to think about God, though."

I nod, hoping he can see the gesture. Though I harbor the same doubts he has, mine are probably of a lesser degree. "Are you going to keep on as we are now? Searching out the stones and trying to stop the war?"

"Of course," he replies firmly. "I can't just let some elitist schemers roll over all the people in Ivalice."

I smile at him, not at all surprised by his answer. "Then I think you'll have some time to think about it," I point out gently. "There's no rush."

"I... suppose not," he agrees, seemingly relieved for some reason. He keeps his silence a moment longer, then clears his throat again. "If you're alright, then, I think I might get some sleep."

"Don't let me keep you up," I scold him, trying to keep my voice quiet on account of the rest of the party sleeping around us. "I'm sorry I... lost it."

"It's no problem," he assures me seriously, climbing to his feet. "I mean, all I lost was my sister; I'm still the same without her, but you lost... a lot of what you are. No one else here was in the same situation."

He's right, I realize. That makes me feel slightly better. "Go sleep," I command, smiling.

Ramza reaches down to ruffle my wet hair, then melts away into the darkness. His soft footsteps recede until I hear him drop to the ground a short distance away.

Still smiling, I let my hair loose and set about retying it. It's good to have him around, I reflect. I can't believe he carried me all the way back to the campsite, then stayed up half the night on top of that. He's a good man. I wonder if he'd do the same for Opal or Lavian.

My hands pause in the act of braiding my hair. After a moment of frowning I give myself a shake and resume my silent task.

When everyone else begins to rise an hour or so later, we set out marching again. Almost everyone is covered in mud, with the curious exception of Mustadio; I have no idea how he managed that, but he's a clever fellow and it doesn't surprise me much.

Around midmorning it begins raining again, and despite the clammy chill from wearing soaked garments, at least it's washing some of the mud away. Not enough of it, though.

We reach Dorter by midafternoon. The city is busily active despite the weather, which brings a faint smile to my lips. I still like this place, for no real reason I can point to.

As we're walking up one of the city's main streets, an oddly-dressed fellow darts out in front of Ramza, causing several of us to reach for weapons. I assume an offensive fighting stance, but the newcomer simply stands there and scowls scornfully at our whole group.

"Heretic Ramza?" he asks. Dark eyes scan the party briefly before ignoring us.

Ramza blinks, then glares at the man. "Where is Alma?"

"If you want her back," replies the man calmly, "come to Riovanes Castle. But you must bring the Germonik Scriptures given to you at the monastery."

I blink at this. Who the hell even knows we have the book? Did someone return to Orbonne after we left to look for it? Or are we being watched far more closely than I had thought?

Ramza frowns. "What does it mean to you?"

The dark-skinned man actually chuckles. "Haven't you read it?"

"Return Alma if you don't want the church's lies exposed," commands Ramza coldly.

"You're in no position to demand," shrugs the other man. "You have no choice. You've been warned." With another shrug, he turns and wanders off through the rain.

As he leaves, Ramza simply stares at the ground, his bluff having been called. Rain continues to pelt us while he just stands there.

After a moment, I nudge him. "See? What did I tell you?"

He shifts his expressionless gaze to me, then smiles faintly. "You were right," he admits. Some of his youth seems to have been burned away in the last day or two, leaving him with the world-weary eyes of an old man who's seen too much, though his face is still smooth; it makes for a disturbing combination. "Come on. Let's find an inn."

I eye him cautiously. "Don't you want to keep moving?" I myself would be thrilled to stay here the night, but I'm vaguely surprised he wants to as well.

Ramza reaches to pat his backpack, where the Scriptures are stored. "They'll wait for me."

I nod. I suppose they will, at that.

Through the rain, we make our way to the inn we stayed at last time, only to find that just three rooms remain free. Ramza grimaces but digs out the gil to pay for them. As the innkeeper hurries off to see that they're ready for guests, Ramza turns to the rest of us. "We can split up with the women in two rooms and the men in one."

"Four people in one room?" wonders Alicia. "Won't that be a little cozy?"

"But there are five of you," counters Ramza. "That would be even worse."

"This is silly," mutters Strawberry over the noise of the common room crowd. "Let's just split up three per room."

Ramza frowns uncomfortably. "That... uh, wouldn't be..."

"Decent?" snorts the priestess. "Ramza, we all sleep around a fire every night. Every time we have this argument, I win. Let's just spare the effort for once."

He sighs. "Fine. When Samuel returns, everyone can just choose a room."

I shake my head at the silliness of the conversation, then wander off to claim one of the few empty tables. When a serving girl appears, I order a bowl of mutton stew, happy to have something warm in my stomach. Several of the others soon join me after stowing their belongings upstairs, and the meal proceeds with the usual bantering that I don't join.

Later, I find my way upstairs to discover that every spot in our collective rooms has been claimed but mine, which is fine since it spares me the banal effort of choosing. Lavian and Alicia have apparently decided to share with Strawberry, as have Ironside and Hannibal with Mustadio. As I shuffle into the room I'm to be sharing with Ramza and Opal, I frown. There's just one bed, wide enough for two people, though there's plenty of floor space.

Shaking my head, I dump my things on the floor. It's still better than sleeping in mud.

Floorboards creak behind me, and shortly Ramza appears in the doorway. He's fidgeting uncomfortably, and once again he seems to find it hard to meet my gaze. "Agrias, I can sleep on the floor. You don't have to worry about it."

"No, I got here last," I point out tersely. "The floor is fine." You can share a bed with Opal, who likes you, you oaf.

"I don't think Opal would like that," he counters incorrectly, eyes narrowed as though he's come up with some devastatingly sly response. "Please. It would just be..." He trails off, muttering at his feet.

I scowl at him. I know he's just trying to be a gentleman, but his concern irks me; this is a "problem" few men would consider trying to solve. Maybe Strawberry is right about him. "Whatever," I agree flatly. "We can switch."

He grins in obvious relief, but says no more; as he moves his things to the wooden floorboards, he eyes me occasionally but does not speak. I get the feeling he's afraid of risking a tongue-lashing from me, probably justifiably.

Once that ordeal is over with, I seek a bath and take it. Lavian and Strawberry are already there, discussing black magic, which is fine since it isn't men for once. I lay back in the steaming water until it melts away my tension and turns my skin pink. Some of the inn's distaff wash my garments quickly while I'm in there, and when I leave some two hours later, I still feel like faint curls of steam are rising from my flesh. It's a pleasant feeling that makes me feel sleepy.

By now it's nearly dark out, so I opt to retire for the night. Shortly Opal and then Ramza appear as well, the latter with an armful of blankets he must have acquired from the inn. Opal snuffs the room's only lamp and then cloth rustles for several long moments as the two of them fumble into their respective bedding in the dark.

Eventually stillness reigns within the room, but despite my heavy eyelids I can't seem to fall asleep. Opal seems to have no such problem; she finds sleep with a sort of catlike ease, then rolls towards me as though trying to cuddle or stay warm, which makes me rather uncomfortable. In fact, this was one of the reasons I wanted to sleep on the floor in the first place.

At least it's not Ramza in my position, at least. God only knows what would happen then... though probably nothing would, since she's too shy and I'm present in any case.

I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. Why must I care about this? They're adults, and I know she likes him. If he returns her attraction, why should it bother me? If not, there's nothing to worry about anyway.

Sleep takes its sweet time in claiming me. I can't hear Ramza's breathing very well over Opal's, but I think he is having the same problem.

Eventually I must have drifted off, because morning approaches rather quickly. Opal rises first, actually climbing over me to stumble out through the door, leaving me alone in the room with Ramza. Slivers of orange sunlight angle through the cracks between the shutters and the windowframe.

I swallow, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. I can't... I can't move. Can't disturb the stillness. I don't know why. My heart is tactile drum in my chest, and I begin to wonder uncomfortably if he can hear it.

Before long, the door creaks open again and Opal returns. Ramza sighs heavily; I realize he's been holding his breath. I chuckle silently, feeling a little foolish. I don't really know what that all was about.

In less than an hour we're strolling out of Dorter. The rain has stopped once again, and now the clouds are actually breaking up above, promising dry weather for at least a few hours. This close to the sea, however, it's impossible to predict for longer than that.

The day proceeds quietly and smoothly as we head into Zeklaus Desert. Fortunately, no packs of monsters attack us in the uncivilized sands, and we reach Goland safely the day after that. In the coal city I change back into my white clothes, complete with the scarf-veil that still makes Ramza uncomfortable, and we set out for Lesalia.

We spend little time in the imperial capital, essentially just passing through the city from gate to gate. As the next day draws to a close and we're watching for a potential camping site near Grog Hill, we stumble across a party of Nanten deserters, judging by the tattered state of their red cloaks.

They recognize Ramza -- apparently his name and description are being circulated these days, which hardly surprises me -- and proceed to attack us. Ramza tries briefly to reason with them, to explain that we're not a pursuit unit, something they seem not to believe, but their greed overcomes any other motivation they might have had anyway.

They're under-equipped and under-trained, and we dispatch them without trouble. Ramza's face is a wooden mask of controlled pain after the fight, and he has that distant look in his eyes that the rest of us recognize by now: he needs time alone. I know exactly why, too. He saw that battle as completely needless and is now wracked with guilt over the deaths of men who would have happily killed him if they'd been skilled enough.

I shake my head as we leave him on the battlefield to set up camp nearby. His heart is so pure, so golden; I don't want to see the world harden it for him. Really, as I think about it, it strikes me that his heart should beat on the _outside_ of his chest, as though keeping it inside his ribcage is almost too secretive for someone like him. On the outside, it could pulse and shine with the strength of all the feelings that dominate him so, glowing with happiness one moment and then turning to sour grey worry the next.

It is not to be, of course, for solid anatomical reasons. And besides, that's what his face is for. He'll never be a good liar. I smile at that.

When Ramza finally wanders into our camp, that open face of his is betraying an odd mixture of surprise and bewilderment. "I just saw Olan Durai," he declares, mystified.

"So?" wonders Alicia. "We saw him before in Goland. He must operate around here, doing... whatever it is he does."

"He's with the Nanten, apparently," nods Ramza vaguely. "He was with the pursuit unit those deserters were anticipating. I thought he was going to try to capture me, but he seemed surprised when I suggested it. Then he said he was my friend and wandered off."

"He's probably telling the truth," shrugs Lavian, eyeing Ramza sideways. "You helped him before; it's hardly out of the question that he feels some gratitude for that."

"I suppose," allows Ramza, shaking his head. "He's... yeah, you're probably right. Where's the food here, anyway?"

"Over here," calls Ironside, toeing a backpack on the ground next to Boco. "Field rations fit for a king." Hannibal, beside him, chuckles.

Shortly after that we start taking watches, all of which pass without incident. The next day brings us to Yardow Fort City, a place I've been to only a couple of times before. It's pleasant enough place, not built to intimidate, and its inhabitants are generally kind enough.

As we approach, however, someone shouts something from just within the fort. "Rafa!" It's a man's voice.

Before I can do more than exchange a startled glance with Ramza, a girl rushes out of the gate, clad in flowing white garments of an odd cut. They vaguely remind me of the white clothes I purchased in Dorter, though I've changed back out of them again after leaving Lesalia.

"Help!" shouts the girl desperately as she runs towards us. I can hear booted footsteps running after her from inside the fort.

Without a word Ramza breaks into a sprint towards the wall, and I follow suit towards the girl at the gate. To my surprise, Ramza leaps to catch the top of the wall, then pulls himself over to face the enemies within. "You!" he shouts as he disappears inside. "You're that man! You're supposed to be waiting at Riovanes Castle!"

"That was what the Grand Duke said," agrees the other speaker, whom I round the corner to recognize as the oddly-clad fellow we saw in Dorter. "I'll prove we can beat you without the Shrine Knights!"

Ignoring the byplay, I run up into the interior of the fort and cripple a summoner with an earth slash. Ramza has toppled a Riovanes ninja by himself, and I can see Ironside atop the wall, summoning the earth's wrath to injure another ninja and summoner. Hannibal appears next to me to finish off the summoner, then winks at me.

As I turn my attention to the other enemies around, lightning crackles and thunders into the Riovanes forces, killing the other summoner. That was probably Lavian; she favors the lightning-elemental attacks, even carrying around a lightning-aligned rod. I think it excites her, gives her a feeling of power.

The odd wizard casts some oracular spell at us, blinding Hannibal but missing me, while his allies counterattack and injure Ramza badly. Grimacing, I sprint to tackle the ninja hacking at Ramza, knocking the man unconscious by slamming his head a few times against the ground.

In moments, the fight is over. The wizard has run off somewhere, I note as I glance around. Damn. I suppose we'll see him again at Riovanes.

Ramza limps to the white-clad woman, Rafa. "Are you alright?"

She nods faintly, swallowing. "Yes," she answers. "Thank you."

"If they return," worries Ramza, glancing around, "we're in trouble. Let's hide!"

I silently agree with his reasoning; without doubt dozens of Riovanes guards will follow the sounds of fighting to find us here. Just like in Zaland, really, when we found Mustadio. Odd. Anyway, we sneak around and find an empty building nearby and slip inside.

Rafa, I note as we are closing curtains and hunting down exits, is shaking badly. Her dark eyes are staring off at nothing, and her face is twisted in fear, or perhaps pain.

"Talk to her," I suggest quietly to Ramza, nodding at Rafa. "Away from everyone else, to put her at ease."

"Oh," he nods. "That's a good idea." He smiles at me, then shuffles over to touch Rafa's shoulder lightly. The young woman jumps in alarm, then sags when she realizes who it is. Together the two of them wander down into the basement.

"This place is safe," declares Hannibal a short time later. "No one's been here for months, at least."

"We may as well stay here the night," suggests Strawberry, eyeing him. "We can't leave just yet anyway."

Hannibal nods. "You may as well get comfortable," he adds with a grin for the priestess. She rolls her eyes ceilingward.

Choosing a dusty corner, I lean against the wall and slide to the floor, pulling off my armored vest to examine it for any damage it might have taken in the fight. It's funny how fighting without a weapon now frees up time that would otherwise have been occupied tending to it.

Later, Ramza emerges from the basement with a subdued Rafa in tow. "Rafa will accompany us to Riovanes Castle," he explains. "She's Malak's sister -- he's the wizard we fought -- and he just now sent a... a frog... to let us know that she had to come with us."

A frog? I don't even want to know. The others apparently have the same thought, shaking their heads and shrugging, but they all nod. Mustadio smiles at the young woman.

As we settle into the place and darkness begins to fall outside, I notice that Rafa seems uncomfortable around all of the men, or at least all but Ramza. At one point Hannibal made some suggestive remark to her and she went white as a sheet, or at least as much as her tanned features would let her, and started shaking again. Hannibal apologized to her, though, and eventually she seemed to relax again, even smiling. Nevertheless, she ends up spending most of the evening in the company of the women of the party.

There's something odd about her. I wonder what she's running from.

She's a pleasant person, though, I discover. She chats briefly with me, and with the other women as well, apparently to get the feel of the party. For some reason I think she's another like Ramza, someone who is, or was until recently, convinced the world is essentially a good place, filled with good people. I don't really count myself in that category, I realize; to me, the world is just filled with _people_, some of whom are good and some bad. Many are somewhere in between.

Eventually, however, Rafa says something that surprises me. "Ramza speaks well of you," she muses, out of hearing of the others. "You are a great person, he says. A wonderful friend."

I can feel my cheeks heating. That does sound like something Ramza would say about me... to someone else. "He's... he thinks highly of others," I explain lamely.

Rafa just smiles. "I have a feeling for people, you know. I think he's probably right. Are you two together?"

What? This again? "No," I answer firmly. "He's... not what I'm looking for." And he's too young.

Rafa seems to consider my answer, brow furrowed, then nods. "Ah. I see."

"Why?" I wonder. Is she interested in him like half the other women in the party? Well, likely not if she's so uneasy around men. I wonder if she's had some... bad experiences there. That might explain things.

"Oh, no reason," she assures. "I just want to know who everyone is. I don't want to have to piece things together myself and maybe come to the wrong conclusions. Best just to ask, I think."

I nod. "That sounds reasonable."

She smiles again; I find it a comforting sight, for some reason. It is a warm smile, free of designs and calculation. Like Ramza's. "Thank you."

I nod again, realizing I'd given her a compliment. "You must be from Riovanes, then? Or at least your brother is working for Barinten."

Her face clouds momentarily, but then she chuckles. "I just finished explaining all this to Ramza," she admits almost sheepishly, "but I'm from a village that doesn't exist anymore. It was burned in the War, and Malak and I became orphans. Barinten adopted us and taught us, but I just found out he was the one to burn the village to get the unique skills my family has." She sighs, her face sad and lost.

"What skills?" I wonder carefully. "Why would he...?"

"They're... attacking skills," she explains awkwardly. "Like magic, but not magic."

"I'm sorry," I admit quietly. "I won't press you about it."

Rafa smiles again, this time in gratitude. "It's late," she murmurs. "We should get some sleep if we'll be travelling tomorrow."

I nod. The honey-skinned woman glances about, then curls up on the floor exactly where she stands. After a moment I do likewise a short distance away.

The night is peaceful and passes quietly. We wake up in the morning and slip unnoticed out of the city.

There is sparing conversation as we travel, likely due to the surroundings, I think; the terrain shifts gradually into a shadowed forest, the kind of forest that mutes sound and spirits. Yuguo Woods has a reputation.

Sometime just before dusk, my skin begins to crawl and I glance about sharply. The ethereal mist floating between trees is slowly shifting, condensing into material shapes. Boco warks and growls low in his throat; steel hisses all around as our party draws its varied arms.

We waste little time attacking the forest's undead minions. Rafa attacks as well, surprising me by using the skills for which Barinten must have sought her originally. I'm not certain how well her power can be controlled, but each pulsing punch of lightning literally resonates within me; I find myself wondering how closely it's related to what I do.

In moments we've dispatched our unearthly enemies. Without a single word exchanged, the entire party hurries on westward; no one wants to be caught in this forest at night.

As the smoky violet above is just fading into star-studded blackness, we emerge from the oppressive woods into an open plain. I sigh in relief before I can catch myself, and I can hear the same response from several others around. After a moment Ramza waves us onward, and we hurry a good half-mile from the edge of the trees before finally stopping to camp.

"I hate undead," mutters Alicia, absently rubbing her hands distastefully on her clothes. "Their eyes are... empty."

"Oh, they're not so bad," chuckles Mustadio, patting the gun in its sheath. No, he calls it a holster. "You just have to know how to handle them." With another chuckle, he wanders off.

"'You just have to know how to handle them,'" mimics Alicia under her breath as the mechanic strikes up a conversation with Opal. "It's easy for him to say," continues my former knight. "He doesn't get anywhere near them."

Lavian sighs. "Just be glad he was there," she advises. "Otherwise you would've had to fight more of them up close."

Alicia grunts but does not respond, and rightly so, in my opinion. I eye her briefly before striding to Boco to unlimber some dry wood I found earlier in the day; it's my turn to make the fire tonight.

As I gather flint and steel -- Mustadio has run out of matches, and I kind of prefer the old way anyway -- Ramza and Rafa stroll up and seat themselves. He leans back as he often does, legs stretched out and hands on the ground behind him, while she sits in a tight ball with knees hugged to her chest. Elsewhere, Hannibal and Ironside face each other and stretch, getting ready to train.

"Are you worried?" asks Ramza quietly, apparently continuing an earlier conversation. He glances at the woman beside him with eyes full of sympathy, but his voice is conversational rather than gentle.

Rafa chews a lip, deflating slightly. "Yes. I don't want to have to fight my brother, but that's probably what it'll come to."

Ramza stares at her for a moment, then shifts his gaze at the fire that isn't even burning yet. "I know exactly what you mean," he answers.

Rafa touches his arm momentarily in comfort, then follows his gaze to where I'm carefully arranging the kindling. Silence falls between the two.

Shortly Ramza shakes his head, pushing himself to his feet and brushing himself free of dirt. "I'm going to check on everyone else," he explains, glancing down at Rafa. "Will you be alright?"

"Of course," she smiles. "Go on."

Ramza nods companionably, then makes his way to where Strawberry seems to be having some difficulty getting Boco to eat the latest bunch of greens. Rafa stares off after him, then turns a smile to me. "He's a rare one, isn't he?"

My hands pause in the act of firemaking. "In what way?"

"He's so full of concern," elaborates Rafa. "So caring, and he doesn't try to hide it."

"Rare, yes," I agree, smiling faintly. "But not so rare that there aren't others like him."

She blinks. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you," I clarify. "You still care for your brother even though he's fighting you."

Rafa gazes at me for a time, then throws back her head and laughs. The sound startles me; it is loud, almost shrill, seemingly uncharacteristic of such a mild woman, though not at all unpleasant. It occurs to me that this is the first time I've heard her laugh in the day and a half she's been with us. "Oh, don't be silly," she sighs, still giggling. "He's my brother. We grew up together. It's not like I would start hating him just because we disagree about Barinten."

I shake my head slowly. "Rafa, you'd be surprised. I've seen brothers kill each other over much less than their own burned village. Not everyone is like you." I meet her gaze for a moment longer, then return my attention to the fire, snapping flint and steel together. Almost immediately, I produce a small spark, which I blow on gently; it glows brightly in response, quickening from my attention.

Rafa says nothing, only watches as I nurture the spark into a crackling fire. "You're handy," she observes.

I chuckle. "I've done this a lot." Once I'm satisfied the fire will sustain itself, I tuck the tools back into my belt pouch and claim a seat on the ground next to the other woman.

Rather than watch the dancing flames, Rafa turns to watch me, following my movement. Out of the corners of my eyes I can make out a thoughtful expression on her face. "Look at me," she murmurs.

I comply, frowning. Something in her voice strikes me as odd, but I can't put my finger on it.

Rafa reaches out to touch my face. I tense as her fingers apply gentle pressure to my cheeks and forehead, but I soon realize she's physically smoothing away my frown. Her fingertips are smooth, bearing only minimal calluses from weaponplay.

Moments pass in silence but eventually she nods in satisfaction, wrapping her arm back around her knees. "That's much better," she smiles. "Agrias, you're a beautiful woman. You shouldn't frown so much."

I feel my eyes widen at this. "You're more beautiful than I am," I argue; without doubt she earns the most furtive glances from the men in the party. "It's bad enough when Ramza says such things. I don't know what I'd do if I started hearing it from you too."

"Maybe you'd start believing it," grins Rafa. Her smile quickly fades, though, and she studies her knees almost shyly. "I can see what draws his eye to you. You'd make a fitting couple, I think, if that were what interested you."

Oh, for... "He's too young," I explain pointedly, making certain to keep my voice low so that no one else overhears. "It's just... I don't know." How many times do I have to say this to people? I feel like a damn parrot, repeating myself so.

"He's too young?" she echoes, glancing up at me sharply. "Is that why?" Dark eyes scan my face with obvious intelligence; I get the feeling I've just proven some inner conclusion of hers wrong, and now she's rearranging the puzzle pieces so that they fit together in a different way.

"Why?" I ask slowly, watching her watch me. "Does the reason matter?"

For a time she simply stares at me, then glances away, blushing faintly. "I suppose not," she answers weakly. "I thought... well, it doesn't matter." She begins to toy with the fabric of her pale breeches.

I nod, not any less confused but willing to drop the point. "Why?" I ask again. "Are you interested in him? You might want to talk to some of the other women around here; I think there's a... a line, or something."

Rafa laughs softly, a throaty, self-conscious sound. "No, that's not it at all," she replies. "He has a good heart, but I don't know that I could... I don't know. The Grand Duke..." She trails off, shivering.

My eyes widen again at the words she didn't say. "My God," I whisper. "Rafa... did he...?"

She meets my gaze without smiling, all pretense falling from her face to reveal the worn and weary expression of a young woman who's seen little of the world and is already tired of it. She says nothing.

"I'm so sorry," I sigh, squeezing my eyes shut. Reaching out, I draw her into a hug which she returns fiercely.

"Don't... tell anyone," she pleads hoarsely into my shoulder. "Not yet."

"I won't," I promise. "You can trust me."

Rafa surprises me by laughing again, the low, intimate laugh rather than the loud and excited one. "I know I can," she agrees, sniffling as she pushes me back to arm's length. "I already said I could tell you were a good friend, didn't I?"

I chuckle. "This isn't about me, Rafa."

"I know," she repeats, smiling as she drops her arms to her lap. "Thank you."

I nod, uncertain what to say. I've only just gotten used to having a male friend; having a female one will be a new and different thing, I can see. I wonder vaguely if it's odd that I don't consider Alicia and Lavian friends. Perhaps I should speak to them more.

"Ladies," greets Hannibal smoothly, dropping to sit across the fire from us. "Feel free to go ahead and start kissing. Don't let my presence kill the moment."

I turn a withering scowl on him as Rafa blushes at her boots. "I thought you were training," I remark flatly.

"I was," he shrugs, plucking a nearby stalk of grass and tucking it into the corner of his mouth. "Then Boco got all agitated and Ironside ran off to help." He frowns for a moment, then shrugs again.

"Undead probably spooked him," guesses Rafa quietly, poking at the ground.

"Maybe," I allow. "He's seen them before, though, without a problem."

"It could be the greens," suggests Hannibal. "I got a stomachache last time I ate an armful of leaves we scrounged from the Woods too."

I chuckle despite myself. "I suppose you're quite the herbivore."

Even Rafa snickers at the image this produces in her mind, and the conversation dwindles and dies. At least, it does so until Ramza reappears with Lavian and Strawberry in tow.

"...much about time magic," the priestess is saying. "Basically just enough to recognize its use."

"I see," acknowledges Lavian as the three of them seat themselves about the fire. "Then perhaps I will look into it."

Magic, again. I turn my attention to other matters, glancing to Rafa and Ramza, but they seem lost in their own thoughts, so instead I simply stare into the fire.

Eventually Ramza rises to begin his watch duty. I'm half-tempted to follow him, but with us likely to reach Riovanes Castle tomorrow, I want to be rested. He'll understand. Moments after he leaves, I stand as well and seek my blankets, such as they are.

Opal wakes me just before dawn. Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I rise and shrug into my armored vest, aware of others doing likewise. A short distance away, Ironside starts jumping up and down in place.

In moments we are travelling. I fall in near Ramza at the front. His face is drawn with worry, I observe; doubtless he's fretting over Alma. I worry about her as well -- if he cares for her, then I do too -- but there's not much to be done about it right now.

Sometime around midday the spires of Riovanes Castle appear from behind a low hill as we crest it. At least a dozen banners displaying the emblem of Fovoham ripple from the structure. The castle below them is a stark thing, blocky and forbidding even when seen from a distance; many armies throughout histories have shattered themselves against its walls.

As we're striding towards the main gates, I turn to Ramza. "What's your plan?"

"Go in," he answers, shrugging, "until someone tries to stop us."

I grimace but nod, unable to think of a better plan; I don't know the place well enough to know its weaknesses. And perhaps there won't even be a fight to make that knowledge necessary, I reflect. For all I know, the Shrine Knights intend to negotiate for the Scriptures in good faith.

Yeah. I wish we had a better plan.

As we near the gate, defending figures appear on the battlements, knights and archers. I also spot the familiar figure of Malak scowling down at us.

Rafa sees him too. "Malak," she calls, "please stop! Let's go together!"

"You know what happens to traitors!" he shouts back angrily. "You'll be chased by your ex-allies and killed. Even if you escape, you'll live your life frightened. I'd never want to live like that! But the Grand Duke promised to free us after this job!"

"Do you believe him?" counters Rafa scornfully. "You know he's lying! If we don't escape now, we'll be his slaves for life!"

"I trust him!" declares Malak. "We'll be free if we kill him and take the Germonik Scriptures!"

Well, so much for negotiation. Not that I really expected Barinten to send a hothead like Malak to meet us here with a squad of warriors and an agreement drafted by mediators.

"Where is Alma?" demands Ramza as he runs towards a climbable section of wall. His voice is as angry as it is desperate; he has to be wondering if she's even in Riovanes at all.

"I can see you're worried about her," notes Malak slyly. "Just hand me the Germonik Scriptures and I'll save her!"

"Ramza, don't believe him," urges Rafa quickly. "Barinten'll kill both of you once he gets what he wants! Whatever you do, don't give the scriptures to him! Your sister'll be safe only as long as you have the book!"

I wonder briefly about this as I throw an earth slash at a defending knight. How is it that the Shrine Knights kidnapped Alma, but now Barinten is trying to get the Scriptures for them? Or perhaps it's for his own gain, to use as blackmail as Ramza plans to do. Maybe Barinten found out about the book independently and there are no Shrine Knights here at all.

As I drop the knight by the gate, Malak screams in pain somewhere above. A quick upwards glance shows Ramza standing over the wounded fellow. The wizard coughs and mutters something, then turns and bolts towards the interior of the castle.

"Malak!" calls Rafa. "Are you running away?" Growling audibly, she sprints past me and runs after her brother. Ramza stares after her, clearly wishing he could follow, but an arrow catches him in the arm, reminding him of the battle here.

This is a mess, I reflect as I hop up towards Ramza and injure one of the archers with a wave fist. What happens if we don't find Alma and end up losing Rafa as well?

Even without their commander, the Riovanes defenders battle with determination, but determination alone isn't enough to win. When the last corpse tumbles into the moat below, I glance around for a nearby crystal, but the noise of the gate opening distracts me.

A lone knight stumbles out, holding his insides in, face pale. "Help," he gasps weakly, eyes sliding around the environment as though not really seeing anything. "Monster." With the word, he collapses into a pile.

"Rafa," whispers Ramza as he claims the crystal of an archer. "Alma. Please be safe."

I silently echo his concern. Without a word the party gathers near the fallen knight at the gate, then rushes in. Soon the hair on the back of my neck begins to rise for no reason I can point to, and an uncomfortable memory of Orbonne Monastery puts a face to exactly what kind of "monster" might be here.

We encounter crushed and mutilated corpses on our way through the castle, but no living defenders. I actually find myself at the head as we race through hallways and vast halls; Ramza's face is painted in absent concentration as though he can find his way using his heart alone. So much the better if he can.

Suddenly he stops, spinning to bolt off down one corridor. "This way!" he declares, calling after us.

I skid to a halt with the others, then race back after him, only to encounter a knot of Riovanes defenders rushing after him from the other way down the hallway. We clash into and through them; fists, blades and spells fly in both directions as we fight.

In moments we've disposed of them, but there's no trace of Ramza. "Damn it," I whisper, glancing in all directions. "He was going this way. Let's go."

I run off after my friend, letting my feet guide me, aware of the rest of the party following a half-step behind. I run past several solid wooden doors without slowing; that surprises me for a moment until I recall that he would not have thought to close a door behind him as he ran.

The interior of Riovanes Castle blurs past me. Shouts sound distantly from somewhere behind, but I can't make out the voices and wouldn't slow even if I could.

Eventually I find the stone archway leading into the castle's shrine and burst into the holy space. Then I bite off a curse. Ramza is there, apparently barely able to stand on his own as he faces Velius with twin blades in his hands.

The Zodiac demon's wooly head swivels to face me. "I see you have some help," he observes with a deep chuckle. "Then I'll do the same. Come out, loyal servants!" he bellows, throwing back his head and quivering with some fell power.

Behind him the air flickers and glows, and a few other demons appear from nowhere. Velius laughs richly. "Here I come, Ramza! Let me show you the power of evil!"

Well. At least he doesn't mince words.

Ramza screams and runs -- well, limps -- towards Velius, slashing him twice but causing little discernible damage to the demon's massive body. I break into a run as well, pumping my arms until I slide to a halt and focus my momentum into a punch that echoes in the suddenly-crowded shrine. Hannibal and Ironside circle as well, searching for an opening, while one of the spellcasters behind me begins chanting.

Snarling, Velius and his minions attack, summoning all manner of hellish powers against us. I watch, startled, as Hannibal is turned to stone. Two of the demons manage to strike me with some unfamiliar magic; one strikes Ramza as well, killing him.

Tears blur my vision; I know the proper approach is to leave Ramza there, to keep attacking in an attempt to overwhelm hell's chosen champions, but almost against my will I bolt to my friend's side and plant hands on his chest. As I begin concentrating my essence, the rest of the battle fades to a buzz in my ears; even when Strawberry's spell erupts, throwing vivid strobing shadows all about, I barely notice.

When I feel energy sparkling to a solid glow within me, I spread my fingertips and push gently with the palms of my hands, willing some of my life into Ramza. He twitches, then sits upright, blinking dazedly about for a moment before grinning at me.

Nodding perfunctorily, I leap to my feet and rush back into the fight. In my absence, Strawberry and Ironside have wounded Velius and sent two of the demons back to whatever plane spawned them. Ignoring the ones I assume to be lackeys, I dart to the side of Velius and deliver another punch that would shatter mortal ribs. An eyeblink behind me, Ramza sinks both edges into monstrous flesh.

Valius screams and begins to quiver. I recognize this from when we fought Queklain and slide backwards on the balls of my feet, giving the demon plenty of space.

"Whoah!" he howls, confusion and astonishment battling in his voice. "They're just humans!" Lightning arcs all around, then explodes, once again leaving the Zodiac stone hovering a pace above the ground before it drops to the floor. The summoned demons vanish like smoke in a brisk wind; I wonder vaguely if they were ever really there, or were instead just phantasms of some sort.

Ramza's fists clench and he starts shaking, much as Velius did. "Alma!" he bellows at the ceiling, eyes squeezed shut.

Biting my lips in sympathy, I turn to nod at Strawberry. "See to Hannibal," I instruct. The priestess nods and hurries over to the statue of the monk.

As she starts to chant again, I squat to retrieve the glittering holy stone we've just earned, then stand and touch Ramza's shoulder. "Alma's not here," I observe needlessly but gently. "Let's keep searching."

He gazes at me with eyes that tighten in naked loss and he sighs. "You're right," he mutters, glancing about the shrine in despair. "Let's go."

Once Strawberry has finished... thawing, I suppose... Hannibal and curing Ramza, we jog back out of the shrine and through the rest of the castle. Distant thunder rumbles the stone from time to time, and there are, if anything, more crushed bodies in the hallways than there were just moments before. Perhaps Velius was not alone.

Soon we stumble across a man who's still alive, a knight lying in a pool of his own blood. Ramza darts to the man's side and clutches his arms. "Where is Alma Beoulve?" he asks, torn between sympathy and impatience.

"Alma," repeats the man, his voice gurgling. I'm not certain he knows who he's talking to, or even where he is. "Not... not sure."

Ramza slumps but immediately straightens. "What about Rafa?" Behind him, Opal rummages about and produces a few potions, then waits.

"Galthana girl," gasps the knight, "saw her running... up. Roof. Trying to kill..."

Opal drops to her knees beside the fellow. "Don't speak anymore," she urges softly, uncorking the bottles one by one and pouring them over his wounds. "We are in your debt."

Once she finishes, Ramza turns and runs without another word, and once again we follow. Corpses and crystals pave the way of our ascent.

Before long, we emerge into the open evening sky. I try to ignore how the wind whips my garments about; it's not that I don't like heights, but rather... well, yes, I suppose that is the problem. Another thing I try to ignore is how high we must be above the ground I can't even see.

Ramza doesn't seem to give our height a second thought, because he doesn't stop once we're outside, instead bolting up some shallow incline before peering around the corner of a spire. Then he jerks. "Rafa! Malak!"

"So," comes a snide voice with the accents of nobility, "you're Ramza." This must be Barinten, I reason. "Don't move. Rafa, if you want to help Malak, bring the stone here. Malak should have it. Find it!"

Silence follows his words. I turn back and exchange a confused glance with Ironside, who's standing beside me. I want to edge around Ramza to see what's happening, but his tense stance tells me I shouldn't disturb whatever it is.

"That's right," soothes Barinten contemptuously. "Bring it to me! Hurry!"

Abruptly Ramza twitches, glancing off to one side as though startled by some new arrival. I itch to poke my head around the corner just for a moment, but I force myself to wait. I hate this.

Barinten emits what I take to be a strangled grunt. What the hell is going on up there? He grunts again, though the sound quickly turns into a scream that fades away, far too rapidly for comfort.

"Can you hand me the stone?" asks a new voice, a man's voice, sleek and cultured. What is this? How many people are up there, anyway? Next thing I know, some fellow will probably wander by trying to sell us chickens.

"Marquis Elmdor," stammers Ramza, and I nod in understanding. "Why are you here?"

"No," says the Marquis firmly, perhaps speaking to Rafa again. "Give it to me."

Ramza twitches again, then shuffles forward. "Rafa, watch out! They're not human!"

_They?_ What the hell? Enough of this. I turn to the others behind me. "Be ready," I advise quietly. "It looks like we can go around from behind as well, that way."

"So, you're Ramza, the heretic?" asks Elmdor conversationally, as though the two men are speaking over wine at a ball somewhere. "I never really thanked you for doing me this favor. Thank you. I don't want to have to get rough like Vormav did. Please understand. Now, hand me the stone and I'll ask Vormav to return your sister."

Vormav, is it? I see. I'll remember that.

"Where is Alma?" counters Ramza angrily. "Bring her back!"

"Didn't you hear me?" asks Elmdor, his voice rising slightly. "Give me the stone first."

I see Ramza hesitate. "No," he decides. "I won't."

"Are you abandoning her?" probes the Marquis, apparently surprised by his voice. "I thought you came here to save her, knowing there'd be danger." He pauses for a moment, and I can almost see him sigh in resignation. "Very well. I didn't want to get rough but... Celia, Lede, go ahead! That girl has the stone. Get it back!"

I curse, breaking to push past Ramza and face whomever the hell is attacking us, but he's already gone. Up the roof he bolts, towards one of two women who radiate beauty and menace in equal parts. I almost stumble in surprise on seeing them; each is like a sculpted thing, every curve in perfect proportion, every strand of hair hanging in perfect order. I feel myself starting to bristle. Ramza hacks into one of them, drawing blood.

For the moment I ignore Celia and Lede, instead running past a panicked Rafa to attack the Marquis. He dodges my initial punch, and I want to groan; his movements are so fluid, so strong, that I'm convinced he's another of the Zodiac demons in human flesh. That must have been what Ramza meant.

Calm as you please, Elmdor draws a katana and slips past me, unleashing some vengeful spirits or other to attack Rafa and myself. I grimace, attempting to intercept the Marquis before he can kill Rafa, but something thumps into my back, not particularly forcefully.

Something is wrong. Something... I can feel my eyes widen, and I want to gasp for breath, but the muscles in my chest won't move right. A blizzard of silver specks floods my vision as pressure builds in my torso. Blood thunders in my ears, and I can barely hear Ramza shouting my name before blackness claims everything.

* * *

Warm. There is warmth, spreading liquidly around like pools of sunshine, displacing the chill of nothingness. 

I cough and sit up, then ignore the urge to clutch at my pounding head. My entire body tingles as though pricked by invisible needles; it's a sensation I'm familiar with. I'd much rather feel it than the alternative.

"Wake up, pretty," says Hannibal flippantly, squatting beside me. "Fight's over." He plants hands on his knees and stands.

I groan, rubbing at my eyes. "How did it go?" It's almost dawn, I notice. When did that happen?

"We fought them off," explains the other monk with a grin. "They want us to come to Limberry and fight them again."

"Great," I mutter. "Thanks. Where's Ramza?"

Hannibal chuckles bitterly, pointing down the slope of the roof. "Your man's over there, by Malak's body."

Right. Malak. I remember seeing him sprawled out earlier, before they killed me. Nodding my gratitude at Hannibal, I stand and sway for a moment before stepping carefully to where Ramza is hovering uncomfortably near the grieving Rafa.

"Barinten was going to shoot her," explains Ramza miserably to me. "Malak pushed her out of the way and got hit instead. That was shortly before we arrived, she says." While he's speaking, I can hear Rafa's quiet weeping as she cradles her brother's head.

I regard the white-clad woman sadly, then glance at Ramza. "Are you going to stay here for a while? The rest of can search the castle for Alma, if you want."

His face melts in gratitude, but after a moment he shakes his head. "I'd like to join you searching," he answers, "but... in a little while." He nods towards Rafa and Malak.

"Of course," I agree, inclining my head. I back off, giving them a modicum of privacy, then edge along the roof to find where the others are gathered. Strawberry hands me a good half-dozen potions and I drink them all; they even manage to soothe my strobing headache, for which I'm extremely grateful.

Sighing in relief, I tuck the empty vials into my own belt pouch, then turn to Opal. "They didn't get Malak's stone back, did they?"

The younger woman shakes her head. "No, we kept..." Red light flickers somewhere behind me, interrupting her, and Opal's eyes widen as she stares past my shoulder.

Twisting, I frown back at the others, then gasp. Malak is... alive now, it seems. That's more than a little odd. He and his sister are both laughing, while Ramza seems close to tears. He's so sensitive.

After the siblings release one another, Ramza ushers them towards the rest of us, and we finally leave the roof down the stairs we took on the way up. I conceal a sigh in relief at no longer being in danger of falling.

We split up to search the Castle; I find myself with Mustadio as we roam the cellars and dungeons. We don't see a single living person during our search, which is quite eerie. We also don't find Alma, which could potentially be good, given what happened to everyone else here.

Eventually the party meets back up in the shrine. "I think we should go to Zeltennia," explains Ramza once everyone's together.

"Why Zeltennia?" frowns Strawberry. "Do you think Vormav took her there?"

"Delita is there," answers Ramza. "He's with the Shrine Knights... at the moment... and I want to know what he knows about Vormav. He could be a potential ally."

I eye him guardedly. "You don't want to go to Limberry?"

"Not yet," he replies hesitantly. "I have no reason to believe Alma is there, and there are useful things we can be doing in the meantime."

I nod. His plan is a good one, actually. I'm relieved, really, to see that, even with Alma missing, he can reason and function as before, with the sort of maturity a commander should possess. Perhaps he's not so young after all.


	8. Chapter 8: One Boot

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy Tactics or any of the characters therein. I am using them without permission and will cease to do so if asked. Please don't sue.

* * *

Chapter Eight: One Boot 

After stealthing out of Riovanes Castle proper, we stumble our way through the city towards an inn just as the sun is rising. I don't see how much gil Ramza surrenders to get ourselves rooms at the break of dawn, and I don't really care. What I do care about is that I have my own bed, albeit a small one, in the same room as Alicia and Strawberry. I barely make it out of my boots and armor before crashing into the mattress.

I think I end up sleeping for half the day, judging by the angle of sunlight on the floor when I wake. Alicia has already risen, I note on seeing her empty bed, though Strawberry is still a woman-shaped lump under her covers. Swinging my knees to the floor, I sit there for a moment on the edge of the bed, blinking away sleep, before I finally rise. I'm not in a great hurry; there was a sort of unspoken agreement last night that we'd stay a whole day in Riovanes.

Stifling a yawn, I make my way down to the washrooms, where Alicia and Opal are just finishing up. Rather than bathing fully, I simply wash myself off with a square of pale linen and a cake of soap. Perhaps I'll have them draw a full bath later, if nothing is happening.

Once back in the room, I poke Strawberry in the belly and am rewarded with a grunt. Over the last few months I've noticed that, on our few rest days, she'll sleep as long as she's able, disregarding such trifling things as eating, the time, weather, shouting and moderate physical disturbance. She'll wake when she's ready.

Smiling slightly, I brush out my hair, then head down to the common room to get something into my stomach. Most everyone else is there already, I see, even Malak; he looks a bit haggard after being... well, dead yesterday, and still holds himself a little stiffly in our company. I suppose I can understand that, given that he'd tried to kill us and everything, but if Ramza and Rafa can forgive him, I can do it too.

"Strawberry's still sleeping?" wonders Hannibal with a smile as I squeeze into a seat between Rafa and Lavian.

I nod. "You'd better get used to it," I advise.

"I know," he grins. "She's like a cat."

"Of course," murmurs Ironside absently into a mug of cider. "Sleeping twenty hours a day, but capable of great feats of strength and agility in the other four."

"Well, the sleeping, yes," agrees Hannibal. "Not so much the strength and agility." The other man chuckles.

"Be nice to her," scolds Opal mildly. She seems faintly amused despite her words, and Ironside chuckles again.

Mustadio stretches in his chair, arms ceilingward, before relaxing once more. "Is anyone doing anything interesting today? I've never been to Riovanes before."

"If you want interesting," answers Alicia, eyeing him significantly, "just watch the Castle. There's no one there. I'll bet you ten gil that there's fighting before the day is out, whether it's people looking to succeed Barinten or simply looters."

The mechanic frowns as she speaks, then grimaces. "You're right," he sighs. "I didn't think of that."

Ironside nods sagely. "It's a good day for staying here, I should think." General murmurs of assent answer him.

"There's always dice," suggests Alicia brightly. "That's a pleasant way to pass an afternoon."

"Not with _your _dice," mutters Mustadio. Alicia scowls, then sticks her tongue out at him.

"Where's Ramza?" asks Lavian abruptly. I blink, then glance around the table and frown. With so many people in the party these days, it can be easy to miss one person. Even if it is him.

Ironside purses his lips. "He's awake, I know. At least, he'd made his bed and everything." Leave it to Ramza to make his own bed while staying at an inn.

"I'm sure he's around," shrugs Opal. "He'd have said something if he were going out." After a moment, Lavian nods.

I dismiss their worries, instead focusing on my honeyed porridge. Ramza's allowed his moments of privacy; he's probably at the jakes or some such.

By the time I finish eating, Alicia has already convinced Hannibal and Opal to play at dice. Her point about the city being dangerous today is a valid one, though, so I leave my empty bowl on the table and head back up the creaky stairs to find my armor. It would be nice to relax on a day after we've fought and defeated another Lucavi demon, but the rest of the world isn't going to rest.

On the way to my room I pass Ramza's and glance inside just to verify that he's really not there. A detail catches my eyes, however, and I stop in the hallway, shifting to stare into the room. The shutters are closed but not latched. I can guarantee they were latched earlier because I know Ironside double- and triple-checks such things before he sleeps. It's rather odd, because sleeping out-of-doors doesn't bother him at all, but if we're in a city, his room must be as secure as possible or he won't be able to sleep.

Still frowning, I shuffle into the room and poke the shutters. They swing slightly open without a sound, revealing a narrow view of a section of roof tiles, followed by the street below. Pushing them further open, I lean outside and glance around, blinking as odd strands of hair are blown into my eyes.

It doesn't take me long to spot Ramza. He's sitting on the slope of the roof between where the windows protrude from it. Since he's curled into a ball of sorts, arms crossed over his knees and head buried in them, he hasn't noticed me. A breeze ruffles his garments but he doesn't stir.

For a moment I chew a lip, uncertain if I should leave him be, but if something's troubling him, I might be able to help. "Ramza?"

He jerks his head up to stare at me in surprise. Tears glisten on his cheeks in the afternoon sunlight and his eyes are red and puffy. "Agrias?" he gasps. Then he glances away, embarassed, and begins to rub his face hastily dry. "I'm... I'm sorry. It's the... you know, the dust in the street. It makes my eyes..."

I blink, taken aback; does he think I'm going to make fun of him? He should know better. "Ramza," I sigh, shifting my gaze to the roof tiles right outside the window. It should be safe enough; he made it to where he is, after all.

Swallowing uncomfortably, I step out onto the roof, gripping the shutters with white-knuckled fingers. The wind picks up again briefly and instinctively I drop, lowering my center of balance to the weathered red tiles. Sweat begins to slick my hands and I shift my grip nervously on the shutters, advancing inch by inch towards my friend. I hate this, but the drop to the street would only -- _only!_ -- be a couple of stories, and besides, it's for Ramza.

Shortly I reach the edge of where the window rises from the roof, then advance on hands and knees. The slope is mild, fortunately, so I don't feel as though I'm going to fall, but I can't make myself move any faster. It's odd, but if I'm climbing up from the ground, I'm usually fine, but if I emerge somewhere above the ground, I have problems.

Ramza is so caught up in his efforts to make it seem like he wasn't crying that he fails to notice my difficulty. He's still going on about dust when I finally reach him and sit beside him.

"What is it?" I ask gently. "You know I'm not going to laugh at you or anything."

"You will for this," he chuckles without humor, still not looking at me. "It's silly." He bites his lips, wiping at his eyes with the edge of a sleeve.

"Try me," I urge. "You know me better than that. Is it Alma?"

He laughs softly, finally giving up on his face. "Actually, no," he admits, staring off over the edge of the roof at the wall of the jeweller's shop across the street. "Really, nothing's changed with her. I still know who has her but not where she is."

I nod in understanding, keeping my silence. He'll continue when he wants to.

"What's actually bothering me," he sighs after a moment, "is... Wiegraf. When I fought him."

"Wiegraf?" I repeat, surprised. "Why?"

Ramza stares at his open hands in his lap as though they've betrayed him in some capacity. "Before you all arrived in the shrine," he explains quietly, "before I started fighting him at all, he kept telling me to draw my sword. I didn't, because I wanted to talk to him, to try to see if Wiegraf was the same as Velius or if there was some distance between them. I'd... I had hoped that, if there was, I'd maybe be able to try to... drive Velius away, sort of. I don't know. But the words didn't come out. I wanted to talk my way around fighting, but I couldn't even start trying. It was like something in me had just given up on him, and that makes me worry about myself, about what might be happening to me."

I stare at him in wide-eyed disbelief. He thought it might actually work to reason with someone he knew to be a _Lucavi demon_, but then didn't try it? And that's why he's upset? My God.

Ramza loves everyone. Even the people he hates, he loves.

I squeeze my eyes shut and hang my head. All of a sudden I feel ashamed, somehow unworthy to share a roof with someone like him, someone who's so radiant on the inside that he can't see all of the darkness in others. He's such a beautiful person; how can I possibly ease his worries? What words are there to tell him that, even with his faults and doubts, he's still a better person than anyone else I know? I bite my lips to keep them from quivering.

"See?" he asks bitterly, angry at himself. "I told you it was silly. Ha ha ha, Ramza's being a sissy girl again." He sighs. "I know it's a foolish thing to..."

I interrupt him by reaching to give him a fierce hug. If I don't have words, I can give him a gesture.

He freezes as my arms wrap around him, then melts and returns the hug. His arms slowly tighten around me; he's stronger than I would have thought with his frame. I bury my head in his shoulder and just sit there.

I have no idea how long we're like that; I'm too busy enjoying the comfort of human closeness to count time. Noise bubbles up from the street below, people talking and shouting, the occasional wark of a chocobo, but I ignore them. The roof is ours.

Eventually Ramza breaks the hug. Pushing me back, he smiles, a tender expression that makes my stomach flutter for some reason.

Well. My job out here is done, I suppose. Giving him a brisk nod, I climb unsteadily to my feet. Now that I'm going back into the window, rather than coming out of it, I'm able simply to walk across the sloping roof to the open shutters, but I'm still slow and careful about it.

He doesn't say anything as I reach and enter through the window. Once back in the room, I hurry into the hallway but then hesitate. Why was I here again?

Oh, right. Armor. The city, and all that.

Sighing, I slip into my room before Ramza can see me, if he's even following at all. My vest is exactly where I left it under the bed; I squat to retrieve it, then sit down on the edge of the mattress.

That's as far as I get. I want to lift the thing and shrug into it, but my arms aren't moving. Instead I just sit there, staring at the opposite wall.

He's too... too... something. What was it? Not too young anymore.

Faint laughter floats through the door from the common room below. The sound distracts me momentarily and I sigh at my lap. I'm a grown woman. I have more important things to worry about.

Exhaling coolly, I lift my armored vest and begin donning it, tugging on the straps perhaps slightly harder than is necessary, but it gets on and it's going to stay that way. Afterwards I stand and stride back out into the hall, then down the stairs. It occurs to me that my teeth are clenched, and I spend a moment unclenching them.

When I reach the common room, Ramza is still absent. I relax slightly, then reclaim the seat I was using when I ate earlier. The people at the table are still dicing, and now Mustadio has joined as well. Lavian spares me an odd look as I sit, but when I raise my eyebrows in question she just shakes her head.

Eventually Ramza shows up to join his party. Hannibal calls out a gregarious greeting, inviting him to join the game, which Ramza declines with a laugh. The Beoulve somehow manages not to meet my gaze without making it seem like he's ignoring me, which is fine, since after his entrance I don't look at him either.

I hate this. I feel like a stupid girl. I know it's not his fault he has such an effect on me, but so many odd and unpredictable things have happened between us that I need some... distance. Not a lot; just... a little. It's for the best.

As afternoon wears into evening, a trio of musicians begins to set up in one corner of the common room. I take that as my cue to slip out and wait as the serving girls draw a bath for me; it's not like anyone would ask me to dance anyway, but I just don't feel in the mood for all of that festivity.

When the bath is ready, I climb into it and stay there for over an hour. Muted music pulses through the walls the entire time and I ignore it. As the water starts turning tepid, I finally climb out and dry myself off, then head straight upstairs for bed. I'm not tired enough to fall asleep yet, but the bed is warm, comfortable and private. I've had precious little time to myself of late.

I stare at the ceiling for a long time before sleep claims me. Whatever I dream about, it leaves me sweaty come morning.

The next day, we leave early. I know Ramza wants to head to Zeltennia, but he surprises me by leading us towards Dorter and Gariland. We need supplies, apparently, and there are a lot of things more easily found in Dorter than anywhere else in the region.

The short journey south takes us the better part of a week; we're attacked twice in the meantime, once by brigands and once by monsters. On reaching Dorter we unload a fair amount of gil and come away with some nice new equipment, but what interests me most is the katanas. They're weighted differently than my knight sword, of course, but each katana is both beautiful and functional, and after a day of carrying them around I buckle one to my waist. As an afterthought I change into full armor as well; if I'm not going to be punching like a monk, I won't need quite the same flexibility, so I may as well armor up the parts of me that aren't going to be bending and twisting all the time.

We still train against each other every night. Even Rafa and Malak join in; Malak seems to do well, but I suspect that's because he's still angry at a lot of things and uses our mock-fights to release it. I can hardly blame him, as I've done the same thing before.

Gradually the siblings also become more social with the rest of the party, though Rafa still obviously prefers to talk to the women over the men, except, as always, for Ramza, while Malak seems vaguely uncomfortable, even shy around the women, though for some reason he can chat freely with Strawberry, who's now studying oracular magic. I don't think there's any attraction there; they just seem to have compatible personalities.

Strawberry and myself aren't the only ones to switch lifestyles as we travel; Ironside bought himself a pair of ninja edges in Dorter, while Hannibal has chosen to don the winged helmet of a lancer. I think it suits him, honestly; lancers are an odd bunch, and I can safely claim I've never met one that's entirely sane. I don't know how any of them _could _be sane; they're walking paradoxes, being both exceptionally unstudied at magic for the most part, but able to leap dozens of paces above the ground, which surely requires the assistance of non-trivial magic. I don't think Hannibal understands it either; when I asked him about it, he just grinned.

Truth to tell, I don't even care. I have a sword that's good at cutting things, and that makes me content.

Eventually we do end up beginning our journey towards Zeltennia. Once again monsters attack us en route, and I find myself wondering how there can be any trade at all these days with the monsters so bad. In any event, they don't slow us down much, and they tend to have money, so I don't complain much.

We actually battle the Nanten briefly, in Dougola Pass. I don't even know why they're there, or why they would try to stop a party as small as ours, but they don't do a very good job of it, so we reach Bervenia without a problem. Lavian seems to enjoy that, since she's from the city, but there's little time to enjoy it.

What time we do have is made far less comfortable by a fiery shrew of a Shrine Knight calling herself Meliadoul. As we fight, she rants something about Ramza killing Izlude, who was apparently her brother, though naturally she doesn't believe Ramza's denials. By the time we finally manage to defeat her, she's shredded half the new stuff we bought in Dorter and killed Ramza twice.

Needless to say, I'm getting tired of Shrine Knights. I don't even know how they found us here; I suppose they've been following us.

After Bervenia, we have to cross the Finath to get to Zeltennia, but once again monsters try to stop us from doing so. I don't know why they don't just build a proper bridge there and be done with it, but there probably isn't enough coin, so instead we carve our way through monster flesh to cross.

When we finally reach Zeltennia, it's in better shape than when I last saw it, during the War. There are no fires now, for one thing, and all of the damage to the western wall has been repaired. The Nanten guards at the gates let us pass, though I'm certain they recognize Ramza.

"I want to visit the church," explains Ramza once we're inside the city, pointing to a steeple rising over the intervening buildings. "Delita should be there, or if not, someone should know where to find him."

I glance at him sharply. "You're a heretic," I note unnecessarily. "That seems a little risky."

"Why?" he counters wryly. "Do you think the altar boys are going to tackle me?"

I smile. "Just be careful. You don't know who else _besides _the altar boys is going to be there."

Ramza waves my concerns away. "We're only going to be there for a few moments. Besides, can you think of a better way to get in touch with a man who works for the church?"

I chuckle at this. "No, I suppose not."

We continue on our way to the church, winding slowly through the milling street-market crowds. Merchants shout at us and at everyone else, trying to sell knives or spices or animals, and at one point our progress is suspended while a handful of children chase each other across our path.

Before long we manage to reach the church. The doors are standing open despite there not being a service in progress inside, and as I watch, a half-dozen people wander in and out of the structure, the faithful going about their votive duties.

"I'm going to go into the chapel proper," decides Ramza as we approach the church. "The rest of you may want to wait somewhere, since I don't think Delita will approach me if I'm not alone. He's... careful with how much information he gives out."

I smirk at that; "careful" is perhaps too weak a word for Delita, but Ramza is right. As we stroll into holy ground, I slow with the rest of the party while he goes on ahead into the chapel. It looks like we'll be waiting in the entryway, a broad space with vaulted ceilings, not nearly so grand as the rest of the church.

"He is too trusting," mutters Malak darkly, staring after Ramza. "He should not have come here."

I smile faintly, following his gaze. "Yes. What can you do, though? He comes and goes as he pleases."

"These people will kill him," contiunes Malak, sighing. "It is foolish."

I turn a questioning gaze on him. "You don't strike me as the type to care about him."

Malak's face cools as he turns to face me. "I don't care for Ramza," he declares flatly. "I care for _Rafa_. I care for the Zodiac stones. Ramza is a means to assure their safety."

"Fair enough," I allow, holding hands up to placate him. Over in the chapel, I see Ramza approach the altar and drop to his knees before it, head bowed as though he were genuinely praying. None of the other faithful seem to notice or care about his presence.

It's strange; I don't really want to follow him in there, don't feel the need to go to a church of Glabados to pray, but even if I wanted to, I couldn't. I can never go into a church again. For me, a church is now a place of enemies.

At that thought I raise my gaze skyward and scowl accusingly. There is much to answer for. Much.

Motion near Ramza catches my eye, and I watch as Delita, clad in gold armor, approaches and kneels beside him. A casual observer might believe them to be men who just happened to be praying in the same place, but any other observer would notice that they're speaking surreptitiously. Ramza even jerks at something Delita says, though he quickly recovers his composure.

After a time, Delita stands, and the two men converse more openly, though I still can't tell what they're talking about. Shortly Ramza rises as well, facing Delita.

"Oh, no," murmurs Rafa behind me. I turn to see what she's talking about, then curse under my breath.

Men have gathered outside, men of the church; by their colors I think probably Heresy Examiners. A couple of knights and geomancers stare back at me, fingering their weapons. Damn.

"Ramza!" shouts a booming voice I recognize. "The church is surrounded! Come out quietly!"

"Zalmo," I groan, drawing my blade. "Great."

Rafa eyes me in surprise. "You know him?"

"We fought him before," I explain tiredly. "In Lesalia."

Before the other woman can say anything, Ramza rushes between us, blades drawn, with Delita just a step behind. Shaking my head, I run after them, wondering at the wisdom of fighting church men _at _a church, but I suppose there's even less wisdom in going along with them.

"You're the Black Knight, Hyral!" observes Zalmo from his perch atop the belltower as I run into the sunlight. "Why are you here?"

Delita glances up at the man, then shrugs faintly. "Now that you've seen me," he calls back, "I cannot let you live! Come on, Ramza!"

Ramza hesitates beside his old friend. "They're unknowingly part of the High Priest's plot! If you explain it well, they'd understand."

Delita snorts in derision. "Are you still so naive?" he wonders. "Well, good luck!"

Mustadio's gun cracks resoundingly behind me as I run to face the enemy knights. Without nearing either close enough to trade blows, I draw one of the katanas on my person and unleash concentric rings of dark fire, tearing into the men but not felling either. Thunder rumbles somewhere behind me; that has to be Delita unleashing a Lightning Stab. A flash of motion turns into Ramza, leaping up to face the geomancers.

Soon Zalmo begins shouting at Ramza and Delita, and I ignore him, concentrating on my opponents for the moment. Both knights close to hack at me, and one scores me along the side, but each attack leaves them foolishly open, so I lash out twice, making two corpses.

Even before the second knight hits the ground, I'm moving again, this time along the side of the belltower towards where another handful of enemies await. Shouts and clashing blades from above signify more of my friends up on the roof somewhere.

Another knight runs to face me and hacks a vicious downward slash, but I narrowly evade it and counter with a slice to his face, drawing blood and a shout of pain from the fellow. Before he can react, I attack again, threading my blade like a needle between the gaps in his armor. He falls without a sound.

Breaking into a run again, I almost trip over the body of a mediator that falls to the ground in front of me, but I recover quickly and start climbing the belltower structure. My companions have largely cleared it of enemies, except for Zalmo who remains the only one alive at the top. As I watch, Opal flies in from somewhere and kicks the old priest in the chest, knocking him screaming to the ground far below.

A sudden silence falls over the church grounds. I sigh in relief and begin climbing back down.

When I reach my friends, Ramza is speaking with Delita again, right there in the open outside the church doors. "...reasons for coming to Zeltennia," Ramza is saying. "One was to see you. The other is to see Count Orlandu."

Delita blinks. "Thundergod Cid?"

Ramza nods. "I want his cooperation to uncover the church's plot."

"How?"

"I have strong proof that will uncover their wrongdoing," answers Ramza guardedly.

Delita is not fooled. "The Germonik Scriptures," he concludes, mildly surprised.

Ramza nods again. "When I met Olan, the Count's son-in-law, he promised me that if I had proof, he would stop the High Priest's conspiracy."

For a moment Delita is silent, and I can see calculation in his dark eyes. "Olan, huh?" he murmurs; I wonder if Ramza has just sentenced the named young man to an unpleasant demise.

Before Ramza can reply, a woman clad in suggestive garments of an earthy brown approaches. Cold blue eyes sweep over our party before settling without any additional warmth on Delita.

The gold-armored knight nods at her. "It's okay," he explains to Ramza. "She's one of us. Several people were sent from Murond to help me; she's one of them."

"Help?" echoes the woman, snorting in amusement. "More like to keep an eye on you." She gives no indication of having heard the two men discussing plans to foil her ultimate benefactor, but I wouldn't be surprised to hear of Delita waking with a dagger in his eye one morning soon. That's odd; Delita strikes me as one to be more careful with his words.

"Hey, come on," pleads the knight companionably before shifting his attention to Ramza again. "She knows everything. She's the only one we can trust in Goltana's army."

The woman eyes him for a moment, then address Ramza, her expression clearing. "You're the youngest Beoulve," she notes, "Ramza, right? My name is Balmafula. It's nice to meet you."

I hide a faint smile. She's more polite to Ramza than to Delita, the man she's supposedly helping. Ramza smiles nervously in response.

Delita's eyes slide towards her, narrowing slightly. "And?" he prompts. "What do you want?"

Balmafula stops studying Ramza and address the knight. "The Hokuten are moving."

Delita betrays no surprise. "Is Fort Bethla the target?"

The woman nods. "Count Orlandu left for Bethla a while ago. Goltana's heading for Bethla... along with your Black Sheep Knights."

"A little too late," mutters Delita. "The battle won't end..."

"I'm not giving up," declares Ramza, his voice steely with determination. "I'll persuade the Count before any more die."

The other man shifts absent attention to him for a moment, then nods. "I guess it's goodbye, Ramza."

"Stay alive, Delita," he implores with a smile.

Delita allows a slight smile, one I'm not certain is genuine. "You too."

The two men shake hands briefly, then Ramza turns and strides away. I follow with the rest of our group. I can sense eyes on my back as we leave the church, but for some reason I suspect it is Balmafula rather than Delita watching us sharply.

As we leave the church grounds, I poke Ramza's shoulder. "What was that all about?" I ask quietly. "If he's working for the church, why did you tell him all that about the Scriptures and the High Priest's plot?"

Ramza sighs. "He's working for the church," he explains cryptically, "but he's not. I think he's just going along with them because their goals coincide with his for the moment."

"So he won't betray you," I reason, "but he's not going to help you either." Well, I suppose things could be worse.

"He did help me," insists Ramza. "Or, really... I suppose it was Balmafula who helped me, by saying where Orlandu is going to be." He frowns at this, apparently confused.

I shrug and let the topic drop. We know what we need to know, and I'm glad to be rid of Delita and the High Priest's lackeys and all of their scheming. I'm a little curious why Ramza wants to see Orlandu now instead of a couple weeks ago, but I suspect if I ask him about it he'll just grow defensive. He probably didn't even think of it.

There is little conversation as we leave Zeltennia westward, heading towards the Finath. Ramza seems to want to travel quickly, so we weary ourselves marching until sundown. I fully support his decision to make haste, but I am also doubtful of its eventual utility; if word is just now reaching Zeltennia about everyone moving towards Bethla Garrison, by the time we get there it may well be far too late. On the other hand, we can't just sit and do nothing, so the march it is.

As the stars begin to appear in the heavens, we stop and make only minimal camp preparations before essentially dropping where we stand. Rafa has chosen to sleep near me, and Malak next to her; I'm not really sure why that is, since really Ramza was the one to decide to save her, not me, but I think I make her feel safe somehow.

We arise early the next day and set out travelling again, crossing the river before noon. The day after that, we reach Bervenia by midday and stop just long enough to pick up some supplies before heading south out of town.

In the desert north of the Garrison, we find a surprise. A handful of Shrine Knights are gathered at an old fort there, apparently discussing some sort of plans when we arrive. I vaguely recognize their leader as Balk, a Temple Knight I've seen once or twice before. Being a fool, Balk explains the High Priest's whole plan to Ramza after he poisons us with mosfungus, and I find myself nodding along. It makes sense, really; push the war to a frenzied crescendo, killing everyone in any position of power, so that the church can step in as a magnanimous mediator, a "neutral" third party whom everyone will trust.

Needless to say, our party does not look upon this plan with charity. The poison wears off in time, and we continue on our course with an interesting new gun Mustadio swiped from Balk's broken corpse.

As the desert sands fade into stunted weeds and then green grasses, Ramza increases the pace until we are almost jogging towards Bethla. From what the misguided engineer told us, the armies are set to clash there today; if we're to have any chance of preventing what can only be described as a slaughter, we need to reach the massive fortress in a matter of hours.

Soon the rugged cliffs in which Bethla makes its home grow near, as do the Hokuten and Nanten armies, each hundreds of thousands strong, each about as forgiving of unexpected strangers as a dragon in its cave. On five separate occasions we are forced to kill scouts who would have alerted their commanders to our presence, and somehow we manage to make it up into the jagged cliffs a short distance away from the fortification. I think the only thing that saved us was that the armies were expecting any intruders to come in much greater numbers than our own.

Once into the cliffs, Ramza directs us from ridge to ridge until the south gate of the fortress is in view. Hopping down from a rocky path, we advance on the guards there, brushing dust from our collective garments as we do so. Ramza smiles at the guards there; they appear to be completely baffled at our presence, as though we've just fallen from the sky.

"Who... who are you?" manages one of the men, hand resting on his sword hilt as he stares from one face to another. "Where did you come from?"

"We're not Hokuten," soothes Ramza easily, arms outstretched placatingly. "We're here to see Count Orlandu. Present us immediately!"

The guards jump at the mention of Cid's name and exchange angry glances. "Here to see Count Orlandu?" repeats the man who'd spoken first, perhaps the captain. "So you're the ones hired to assassinate Lord Goltana? Fool! Count Orlandu's already been captured and imprisoned! But don't worry; you'll see him soon... in prison!"

Ramza turns a bewildered gaze on me, but I shrug, and together we rush the men. Ironside gets hurt rather badly in the battle, but in moments the only motion at the gate is one knight's shield as it slowly wobbles into stillness like a spun coin settling on a table.

Using keys we gleaned from the dead men, we open the gate and hurry inside. I jog absently along, irritably adjusting Meliadoul's sword on my waist; I've never worn it before, and its weight is awkward, made more so by the other katanas I'm carrying and fact that I'm running. It seems odd to carry two kinds of blades on me, but I can't use my natural skills with a katana.

Sometimes I think I miss being a monk. I like weapons, but I don't need five of them on me.

"Where are we going?" asks Rafa curiously as we stop to wait for a few knights around the corner to pass. "Do you know?"

Ramza takes a deep breath, then lets it out. "I'm still figuring that out," he admits. "We need a way to prevent the battle from happening, or to stop it if it's already started."

"There's no one with the power to stop it," observes Malak dryly. "No one to bribe or threaten into changing the plan."

Ramza begins nodding, but then freezes, his eyes widening. Then he turns and bolts down a crossing corridor. "I have an idea," he calls after us. "This way!"

His shout alerts others to our presence, but as we run I see only pages and runners and the like staring after us, some pointing, some yelling; I think all of the men who would otherwise be around to kill or eject us are already out on the battlefield, leaving the garrison's interior oddly empty.

Ramza runs deeper into the fort, into the cliffs, ignoring the questions Alicia and I are directing at him. Eventually we emerge back out into daylight and as we skid to a halt, I begin to understand his plan.

A huge sluice gate rises before us, framed by rocky inclines on which Nanten soldiers wait; they seem confused at our sudden appearance but don't immediately attack. Beyond them, beyond the gate, I know there is water. A great deal of water.

"Oh! This floodgate!" Ramza exclaims, then begins muttering to himself about it, squinting up at the mechanism itself. The defenders seem to take this as a cue that he should not be here and rush us.

I bolt up the left side of the gate with Hannibal. He parries a knight's slash, then leaps skyward and disappears for the time being. I pause a step higher, unleashing the spirits of one of my blades; ethereal entities scream hollowly as they rip into the knight and a wizard, trapping the latter in magical slowness. I ignore the knight for now; he's already dead, even if he doesn't know it.

As I hop farther up the incline, Hannibal finally lands with a laugh, crushing the knight almost beyond recognition. Across the gate, I can see Ramza hacking away at the defenders along with Ironside and a robed Lavian, but I put them out of mind, instead focusing on an archer who seems to be aiming at Hannibal. Putting one sword away, I draw another and kill him instantly with a Holy Explosion.

In moments the defenders have fallen. The fact that some of them have fallen on the levers for the gate is something of a problem. Hannibal and I grunt as we roll one knight off of the opening mechanism, tossing the corpse down into a pool below, while Ramza and Ironside do the same on the other end of the gate.

Kneeling, Ramza grips his lever and pulls it with a solid _thunk_. Something mechanical rumbles just on the edge of hearing, and the stone under my feet shivers, sending little ripples dancing across the water at my feet. I grimace, hopping back onto solid ground, while Hannibal merely chuckles.

Ramza stands, then trots over to my side and flips the second lever. The rumble below returns, then grows almost instantly into a dull roar. Screaming wordlessly, Ramza leaps to stand beside me, then turns as water explodes out of the gate in a deafening display of natural power. Odd bits of wood and stone sail along with the flood briefly before disappearing back into the spray, and I watch, transfixed, as an entire damn _lake _empties itself under the fort and out into the battlefield beyond.

I wonder how many men we'll kill by drowning today. I hope it's fewer than the battle would have claimed.

Ramza suddenly shakes himself. "Orlandu!" he recalls, glancing about. "Let's go!"

He leaps down to a stone walk that's now a bridge across the water and runs towards the doors. I follow, as do the others. We don't have much time; the defenders probably won't be happy about this.

As we turn down a main corridor, a young squire screams and falls on his backside trying to avoid a collision as we rush past. Opal spares the man an apologetic grin, but says nothing. A distant rumble testifies to the continuing flow of water out into the plains.

"Ramza!" hisses a voice abruptly. The man skids to a halt and I almost run into him. Glancing around sharply, I see Olan and Balmafula hidden in the unlit landing of a stairway.

"Olan!" greets Ramza brightly. "Why are... do you know where Orlandu is?"

"We're going to free him now," answers the other man in a whisper, glancing both ways down the halway. "Come this way, before they find you running around like a maniac."

Ramza grins sheepishly, then follows the man. I do so as well, and shortly all of us are spiralling down the tight stairs in darkness lit only by a cold orb of light floating above Balmafula's hand.

"Why is he in a cell?" whispers Ramza as we descend.

Olan snorts bitterly. "The High Priest sent Goltana word of Orlandu's 'betrayal,'" he answers. "Obviously the Nanten wouldn't be able to fight as well without him commanding."

"I see," sighs Ramza. He says no more.

It's eerie, I reflect, watching the High Priest's plan unfolding before our eyes. I hadn't totally believed it was all true before now, I suppose.

Eventually the stairway ends in a squarish room with a single door opening into darkness. Olan and Balmafula pause there, running eyes back up through the rest of our party as we empty into the room, perhaps making certain none of us disappeared in mid-descent. Olan then nods, heading through the door.

I sidle up next to Balmafula as she accompanies the man, then grab her wrist. "Why are you helping us?" I ask in a low voice. "You're the High Priest's creature and his plan calls for Orlandu's death."

Balmafula glares at me, yanking her arm coldly out of my grasp. "I am not a creature," she replies crisply. "I am a woman."

"I'm sorry," I murmur, bowing my head. "I meant no offense, but I do want to know why you're doing this."

Hard blue eyes regard me without expression as we walk. Finally she gives her head an irritable toss, then nods down the hallway at Ramza. "You are also a woman," she observes. "I think you understand."

I hesitate, following her gaze with a frown. "I... don't think I do."

Balmafula shakes her head in resignation and does not answer. She seems faintly disgusted.

I scowl, but attempt with moderate success to smooth my face. "I thought you were supposed to be watching Delita. Where is he?"

She speaks without even looking at me. "Finding and killing Goltana."

Oh. I suppose that's a valid reason to be gone. Adjusting my blades once more, I settle in and wait. The smell of mildew wrinkles my nose as we proceed.

Shortly we round a corner, and a pair of torches become visible about forty paces distant. There are knights there, I can see, red-cloaked Nanten men who glare at us with hands on weapons.

"Who are you?" demands one. "You aren't authorized here."

Fey energies flash and blades hiss. Strawberry retrieves a ring of keys from one of the bodies and unlocks the door the knights had been guarding.

Olan strides into the cell, followed by Ramza and Balmafula. I consider joining them, but then reluctantly hold up the others; if Orlandu's in this dungeon, the last thing he probably wants is for a crowd to wander in and stare at him.

Conversation floats out through the doorway as the knights we've killed slowly crystallize, illuminating the subterranean darkness by the barest ghostly degree. Sometimes it makes my skin crawl, how pretty those things can be.

Eventually the trio exits the cell along with a fourth figure, and I get my first good look at the famous Cidolfas Orlandu. The first thing I notice is that he's huge; he's tall, for one thing, but also barrel-chested and clearly fit despite his advancing age. The hilt of his famous blade protrudes from under an unassuming brown cloak, and I wonder at the insanity of Goltana's men to imprison Orlandu without disarming him first.

Once into the corridor, he nods gravely at the rest of us. "Well met," he offers in a deep voice, one used to commanding. He reminds me of my father, I decide.

"This way, Father," urges Olan, hurrying back the way we came. Once again Balmafula summons an orb of light to illuminate our passage. This time I don't bother to strike up conversation with her.

Before long we reach the hallway where Olan originally found us, then begin following it towards the rear of the fort again. Shouting voices echo distantly from with the garrison, never ceasing; I can only imagine what the planners of the war must be thinking right now, what they must be trying to do. The thought brings a smile to my face.

As we approach the gate where we fought our way in, Balmafula slows to a halt, glancing at Olan. "I must find Grevados," she explains. He nods, and she departs without another word.

Olan takes the opportunity to address the rest of us. "I should be back as well," he explains with a sigh, "or else they'll wonder where I've been."

Orlandu steps forward to clasp the other man's hand. "Farewell, then," he nods. "Remember what I said."

"I will, Father," vows Olan. Releasing Orlandu's hand, he turns to Ramza. "Stay alive, Ramza. We'll speak again."

Ramza smile awkwardly; he hates saying goodbye. "Of course."

Olan smiles back, then turns and hurries back into the main body of the garrison. Ramza stares after him for a moment, then regards the rest of us. "We should go," he suggests. "This is not a good place to be."

"So go," I suggest. A handful of chuckles sound from around the party.

Ramza grins and trots out of the fortress, and the rest of us hurry to keep up. Once we're outside the gate, we ascend back up through the cliffs as best we can in the evening sunshine. For perhaps an hour we travel, alternating between climbing and walking; soon my arms are as tired as my legs.

Once we're far enough from the fort to suit Ramza, he calls a halt on a large plateau atop a craggy cliff. As everyone else begins setting up camp, I wander to the precipice to see the battlefield; I've focused so much on not falling that I haven't paused to appreciate the scenery.

As I reach the edge, I pause and stare. "My God," I whisper. The water that has rushed out of Bethla is apparently just slowing now; where there used to be a fairly flat battlefield, there is now another lake. Even as I watch, antlike men and chocobos are trying to slog through it to rejoin their ranks for the night. It looks to be more than waist-high.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" wonders Ramza quietly as he approaches. His boots crunch softly on stone rubble.

I can only nod. The pre-dusk sunshine creates gold and orange ripples across the surface of the water far below. "I don't think I've ever been so happy to see a big puddle of mud."

He chuckles, throwing a friendly arm around my shoulder. "We _made _that," he notes proudly. I smile.

Another set of footsteps approaches. Ramza drops his arm from me and we both turn to see Orlandu nodding companionably, hands folded atop the pommel of his blade.

"Ivalice owes both of you -- and everyone here -- a debt," he declares. "I've been telling the others this just now. Not many people would break into a fortress to stop a battle."

"I know," admits Ramza uneasily. "I told you, I was just doing what felt right."

The old general chuckles, and Ramza seems to relax. "So you say, and I believe you. Everyone else in this group seems to have the same opinion. Quite laudable, I say."

Ramza smiles at his boots, so I take the opportunity to speak. "Compliments embarass him, Orlandu," I point out, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

He laughs, a hearty belly laugh that probably echoes halfway down to the armies. "Indeed they do, Agrias." After his laughter subsides, he studies the two of us for a moment, then smiles again. "Olan did not tell me you were married, Ramza. It seems congratulations are in order."

"Oh, we're not," explains Ramza. "It's not like that. It's... well, you know." His voice is calm, almost tired, as though he's said this so many times it's hardly worth the effort to make the full explanation anymore.

Orlandu's lips curve; he seems more amused than pleased now. "Very well. I apologize." Offering a slight bow, little more than a dip of his head, the cloaked man wanders back to join the rest of the party.

He doesn't believe Ramza, I can tell. It doesn't really bother me the way it used to, though, when people assume we're a pair. I suppose I've just heard it enough times that the edge has dulled.

"We should go back, too," I suggest. "Unless you're too good to be carrying firewood around these days?"

He gives my shoulder a playful push as we make our way back to the budding camp site. I feel myself grinning and try to stop.

To my surprise, he does allow a fire to be built, despite the smoke giving away our position for miles all around, but on reflection I realize it would take someone all night just to climb to us once they saw it. Besides, the armies below have much greater worries at the moment.

Ironside and Mustadio get a fire going in no time and we feast on the usual field fare. Orlandu seems not to mind, but then, if he's been imprisoned lately it probably tastes like ambrosia to him.

After eating, I stand and glance around the party's faces to find someone to train against, and Opal rises to the occasion. The two of us stroll a short distance along the plateau and face off, myself with a wooden training blade and her with just her fists. To the west, the sun is just sliding past the distant cliffs; we have maybe a half-hour of light left, which should be plenty.

Opal's good; she can keep me on my toes, using both fists to strike at me in defiance of monk custom, but I provide a challenge for her as well. Without even saying anything, we continue to train, pausing every now and then as one of us picks ourselves up off the ground.

A short time later, I become aware of someone watching us; turning around, I spot Orlandu standing some thirty paces away, arms crossed over his chest. On being recognized, he nods, then trots towards us. I lower my blade in response, and Opal relaxes her stance. "Yes?" I ask when the old warrior arrives.

"Nothing," he answers mildly. "Keep going."

I exchange a puzzled glance with Opal, but then comply. My blade whistles towards her head, but she blends into the attack, using my momentum to propel me off my feet. I anticipate this throw attempt and land in a roll, coming up on her opposite side, blade at the ready once more.

"Stop," commands Orlandu. "Do that again."

"Do what again?" I counter.

"The whole thing," he shrugs. "Slowly."

Frowning, I raise my wooden sword into the mantis position, then step in a sideways half-circle and slash at my opponent's head. Before she can even respond, however, Orlandu sighs.

"Stop," he instructs once more. "Agrias, what are you doing wrong?"

I try to smooth my scowl; Orlandu is very good at what he does, and if he wants to make a point, I would be wise to let him. "Nothing," I reply slowly. "That was a textbook advance."

He shakes his head. "You weren't even trying to hit her. You knew she was going to evade and simply took that into account. Make her work."

"I'll... try," I agree, lifting the blade once more, but Orlandu isn't finished yet.

"And you," he continues, turning to Opal, "what did that throw accomplish?" He raises an eyebrow, waiting.

The monk toes the ground shyly. "I don't know?"

Orlandu smiles. "You had Agrias in your grasp and you just let her roll away. If someone gives themselves to you like that, they've made a mistake, and they ought to pay for it."

Opal nods. We face off once more, and this time she attacks first, snapping a fist towards my chest before leaping to kick at my chin. I brush the punch aside, but the kick manages to strike my shoulder. I let the recoil push me slightly around, then drop and twist further, bringing my blade about in a tight backhanded arc; wood bonks faintly against bone as the weapon collides with the shin of the leg Opal lands on.

Grimacing fiercely, she falls onto her backside and clutches the limb, which must be smarting. I take the opportunity to stand straight, working my shoulder; there'll be a bruise there tomorrow.

"That was better," nods Orlandu, pleased. "Keep doing it like that."

I rest the bokken against my shoulder and eye him. "We won't be able to walk tomorrow if we do this for much longer."

He laughs loudly again, patting his stomach absently as he does so. "Maybe not," he allows, "but every time you do it, the next day is easier. It'll make you stronger."

"I should hope so," I mutter, and Orlandu laughs again. Once more he offers that miniature bow, then departs.

Opal finally rises, shaking her leg loosely as she faces me. "Shall we continue?"

"I suspect he'll have words for us if we don't," I nod. The other woman chuckles.

We battle until the sun finishes setting, them limp together back to the rest of the group. Opal wastes no time dropping bonelessly to her bedding and I do likewise in my own.

The next morning Ramza explains that he'd like to go to Limberry to find Alma. Orlandu seems hesitant about this until I add that Elmdor has at least one Zodiac stone and that he is potentially working with the Shrine Knights. After that we almost have to run to keep up with him as he sets off towards an easy way down the cliffs.

The journey towards Limberry proves eventful, as it seems all of ours do. A handful of monsters, perhaps disrupted by all the movement after the sluice gate incident, attack us just into Bed Desert but fail to cause much damage. Another group of bandits attacks us as we're trying to cross the Finath -- once again I curse the lack of a bridge -- but we do away with them fairly easily. Zeltennia proves weirdly uninteresting, and when we're walking through the worst slums of Zarghidas, all that happens is that Ramza buys a flower from some crazy girl.

Every night when we stop, the training takes an odd turn, usually at the hands of Orlandu. He seems little interesting in fighting himself, instead preferring to stand about and dispense advice. Sometimes he even assigns drills to people; I saw Opal punching into a bucket of sand for an hour one night, and he made Ironside try to do backflips while wrapped in heavy chains.

I am not spared his instruction. After seeing me invoke a Lightning Stab at Finath, he spends two hours tutoring me. It's all about "finesse," he says, not strength. I should look like a dancer, he says, not a man with a club. I can't even mention how odd it is to hear that from a fellow who could probably punch through a tree, but I take him at his word. By the end of that night he expresses grudging approval, noting that my form is at least smoother, easier to look at. Ramza ends up having to carry me to bed, though, since I can barely stand afterwards.

When we reach the arid Germinas Peak, a group of bandits turns into a group of bounty hunters on recognizing Ramza. As we leave their crystallizing corpses on the face of the mountain, I can't help but feel angry at the church. They know damn well that none of these thugs are going to kill Ramza; all they're doing is getting innocent -- well, slightly innocent -- men killed in the vain hopes of collecting his head.

After dispatching a collection of undead at Poeskas Lake, we make camp that night on the endless salt flats. We eat briefly, then sit in a circle around a crackling fire under the star-scattered sky. Despite the prospect of fighting for Alma again tomorrow, I'm pleased to note that Ramza is in good spirits.

In fact, _everyone _seems to be enjoying everyone else's company around the fire this night; even Malak grins at some of the bantering between Hannibal and Strawberry. I'm not really sure what it is; perhaps Orlandu's presence. Many among of seem to have half-adopted him as an honorary father figure.

"I don't know," sighs Alicia at one point. "Fighting Elmdor will be... interesting. He has those two... Celia and Lede, and he seems really skilled with the sword." Instantly a somber silence descends around the fire.

"Yeah," agrees Hannibal absently. "It's such a _nice _sword, though, isn't it? Agrias, think of what you could do with that." I smile, chuckling silently.

Opal strokes her chin thoughtfully. "You know," she reflects, "Elmdor has a lot of nice armor too."

"So he does," nods Hannibal. "It would be an awful shame to let it be destroyed when he explodes, after we kill him." Ironside grins suddenly. Hannibal notices this and throws him a sharp glance. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, old friend?"

"I'd be ashamed to share any thought in your head," replies Ironside in sudden seriousness. "I hold myself to higher standards."

"Like hell you do," answers Hannibal pleasantly. "You want to steal his stuff too, don't you?"

Ironside shrugs as though he'd been thinking no such thing, and Hannibal laughs. "I've no hand for that," he admits, glancing between the ninja, Alicia and Opal, "but I'll give a thousand gil or a kiss to whomever can steal more from poor Marquis Elmdor."

Opal and Alicia gaze at one another for a time. Finally the monk smiles. "I've no use for either," she shrugs, "but that's a challenge I'll accept."

"What the hell," shrugs Alicia, nodding.

Ramza frowns at his teammates. "This is serious," he reminds them. "Elmdor is not to be trifled with. I'm pretty sure he's a Lucavi demon."

"But there's only one of him," points out Hannibal triumphantly. "Anyway, are you telling me you don't want those gauntlets of his? I've never seen their like."

Ramza opens his mouth, but then hesitates, clearly thinking. The lancer notices this and giggles to himself. "Fine," admits Ramza. "Just don't lose sight of the real goal."

"Have we ever?" asks a grinning Alicia. Ramza gazes mutely at her, then shakes his head. Beside him, Lavian smiles at the fire.

Orlandu chuckles suddenly. A half-dozen sets of eyes around the circle turn to him, and the old fighter shakes his head. "You all just remind me of me, when I was your age," he explains, idly cracking a peanut shell; we bought some in Zarghidas. "I think you'll do fine."

I smile at the salty ground, pleased at his praise, though he may not have even been talking about me. Everyone else seems similarly subdued.

Ramza takes the silence as his cue to stand. "I'm going to start my watch," he explains, stretching. "The rest of you ought to get some sleep."

As he wanders off into the thick night shadows, the rest of the party begins to unfold limbs around the fire. A handful of muted but merry conversations spring up as everyone seeks their own blankets.

I spread my bedroll on the hard ground a good ten paces from the fire, smiling at Rafa as she beds down beside me. Malak settles in next to her, and the two siblings exchange tender goodnights before falling silent.

That must be nice, I reflect wistfully, staring at the array of stars above. I wish I had someone who would... wait. No, I don't.

I huddle under my blankets; the night air can get cold here, it seems. Sleep eventually comes to claim me.

Noise later wakes me. I sit up groggily and glance about; my sleep-blurry eyes notice a figure bolting through the camp from one end to the other. As I blink, it leaps over the sleeping form of Mustadio and runs off into the desolate expanse of the salt flats. Whoever it is is producing some odd sounds, like choking sobs. It's a voice I recognize.

Lavian? What would she be...?

"The hell was that?" mutters Hannibal's voice a short distance away, interrupting me. Someone else murmurs something in their sleep, and blankets rustle.

My eyes slide of their own accord to where Lavian was running from, and I see exactly what I was afraid of seeing. Ramza is standing there, his form cloaked in shadows, though I can see he's reaching one hand out as though to stop her somehow.

God damn it. I sigh, grabbing Meliadoul's sword, then rise and start jogging after the former knight.

She collapses a mere quarter-mile out of camp, by my guess, and I slow to a walk as I approach. Her half-stifled sobs float faintly over the flat ground.

"Lavian?" I call softly. "It's Agrias." She doesn't immediately respond, so I sit cross-legged beside her, dropping the scabbarded blade at my other side. I can wait.

Some time later -- I have no idea how much -- she scrubs self-consciously at her nose. "I'm sorry, Agrias," she croaks, not looking at me. "You didn't have to come all the way out here. I just wanted some time alone."

I nod in understanding. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"He _lied _to me," groans Lavian, slamming hands helplessly into her knees. "He lied to me."

I frown; something's missing. "Why don't you start from the beginning?" I suggest carefully.

She sighs, scrubbing again at her nose, then chuckles bitterly. "Well, fine. I had a lot of fun tonight at the fire; I think everyone did. When Ramza went off to start his watch, I waited a bit, until everyone else was asleep, then joined him." At my twitch, she finally meets my gaze, holding up a forestalling hand. Star shadows cloak her blue eyes. "Just wait," she implores. "I sat next to him, like how I'd been earlier at his side, and asked him if he enjoyed the evening. He said he did, but I don't know that he really got where I was going. So... I said I liked him, really liked him, and he got a funny look on his face, but he said he liked me as well. So I kissed him."

The woman pauses here, and I know better than to interrupt. Finally she swallows and continues. "He even let me do that... for just a second or so." She holds up thumb and forefinger close together to illustrate how little of a time she means. "Then he pushed me away. He said, 'I can't. I'm so sorry, Lavian, but I can't. I just can't.' He kept repeating that, so when I asked him why, he said that there was someone else."

I feel my eyes widen and my stomach sink at this. When I don't say anything, she frowns at me. "Why would he say that, Agrias? We know it's not true. We've been with him for the better part of a year, and everyone here knows damn well that he's never even kissed anyone. At least, he _hadn't_." She pauses, muttering, then continues. "If he'd just said, 'Lavian, you're ugly,' I'd have been able to stand that. But this... it's like he was trying to spare my feelings. It's such a transparent lie. Why would he say it? Does he think I'm a child who can't stand to hear the truth?"

"I have no idea," I admit slowly, surprised to hear that my voice is hoarse. It's unlike Ramza to lie -- that's putting it lightly -- so I frown and start to think of who he could possibly have meant. Perhaps Lavian misinterpreted? The only woman I can even think of who's that close to him is Alma, though obviously that's in a different way. Maybe... maybe Rafa? No, she's not ready to think of a man in that way yet, not after Barinten. Who else does Ramza even know, except the people in our party? I shake my head in wonder.

It's kind of sad, I reflect. I almost pity whatever woman Ramza ends up choosing, because she'll always be second in his heart after Alma. But perhaps his heart is so full of love that it wouldn't matter.

"I don't know either," sighs Lavian, defeated. "I know it's a silly thing for me to get so bent out of shape over. I'm sorry you had to get dragged into it."

I shake my head, reaching out to hug the other woman. "Think nothing of it. Ramza's an idiot, you know."

She wraps her arms around me and laughs softly. "I know. It's part of the problem, I suppose."

After a moment I release the embrace, then examine her critically. "Are you going to be well?"

"I will," she nods earnestly. "Don't worry."

"Okay." I grab the sword and climb to my feet. "I'll go make him apologize."

Lavian's hand darts out with lightning speed to catch my wrist. "Don't," she orders in a low voice. "Please, don't. It's not worth the awkwardness."

I shrug. "Fair enough. Then I'll just go yell at him."

She giggles and lets me go. "Okay. You can do that."

I smile at her for a moment, then start making my way back to the camp. It's cold enough out here in the darkness, but at least there's little wind. The salt glows in the starlight almost like icy snow, reminding me of winter.

When I reach the camp, everyone else is back asleep except for Ramza, who's still slumped at the far edge of the party. Eyes narrowing, anger growing with every step, I stalk towards him.

"What the hell was that?" I hiss when I reach him. He jumps and whirls to face me, obviously startled. "It's not good just to play with people's emotions."

He gapes at me for a moment, then stands slowly, almost dangerously. "You're a fine one to say that," he accuses coldly.

"Me?" I shoot back. "I'm not the one who lied to Lavian just now."

Ramza laughs; the sound has a raw edge to it, as of desperation or madness. "I didn't lie to her, Agrias."

"Right," I nod. "So who is this mystery woman you've been stealing off to kiss when none of the rest of us have ever been looking?"

He tilts his head at me oddly. "You really don't know what I'm talking about? Honestly?"

"How could I possibly know?" I counter. "You're talking madness."

"You always pretend like you don't know a damn thing," he growls, jabbing an accusing finger at me. "You always make everyone else do the work for you, make everyone else explain everything _first _just so you can get it into your damn head."

I step closer to him, trying in vain to contain a white-hot fury. How dare he talk to me this way? To _me?_ I'm his best friend! "You _explain yourself,_" I hiss. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh my God," groans Ramza, jumping up and down in a circle of uncontained exasperation. "You're doing it again, aren't you? You're.. I just... Once y..." He trails off in a growl, so mad he can't even speak. Still growling, he glares at me, reaching down to pull off one of his own boots, of all things. Then, teeth bared in a silent snarl, he twists and squeezes it in front of my face, perhaps trying to crumple it into a ball. Before I can say anything, though, he screams, twisting to hurl the boot as far into the night as his arms can launch it.

"Hey," calls Hannibal's sleepy voice from the camp. "Do you guys suppose you could _shut the hell up?_"

I blink, turning to stare back at the rest of the party, though it looks like the lancer is the only one awake. Or at least the only one saying anything. My anger disappears as I realize they probably all heard everything we said.

My God. I feel like such an idiot now, and I don't even know what I did. Swallowing, I turn back to Ramza, not quite meeting his gaze. I hope the darkness will conceal my cheeks, which are probably a rather heated red at the moment.

He won't look at me either. Instead, he just stares at the ground, as though the rage that's fled him took with it all of his remaining strength.

Eventually I clear my throat awkwardly. "You... you should probably get that boot," I observe softly. "Otherwise you might find scorpions in it or something."

"Oh," he replies weakly, nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, that's a good idea." Turning his back to me, he shuffles off into the darkness of the salt flats, limping slightly on account of the fact that he's wearing only one boot. He looks so... pitiful.

"Ramza," I call after him, trying to keep my voice only just loud enough to reach him. He stops but does not turn around, and I step softly across the five paces between us. "Let me get it," I suggest. "I won't make you walk like that."

He nods, turning his face away as I pass him and jog under the watching stars. Though he managed to throw the boot a good distance away, it's the only thing besides ourselves in sight on the flats, so it's easy enough to find. I retrieve it and shake the thing out before I start carrying it back.

"Here," I offer, tossing it to him when I reach him. "I'm... sorry, Ramza. I don't know what that was about. I was just mad because it seemed like you were toying with Lavian."

"That's okay," he nods, hopping tiredly about as he tugs the boot on. "You watch out for her, and I appreciate that. It's a good quality in a friend."

I chew a lip and watch him. "Are you still angry at me?"

He gazes at me wearily and shakes his head. "No, I'm not."

"But you look sad," I observe. "Tired."

"You could say that," he agrees distantly. "Let's just get back to the camp."

Before he can move, I grab him in a hug. For a moment he just stands there, arms dangling at his sides, but then he returns it, almost squeezing the air from my lungs.

"I can't stay angry at you," he sighs as he lets me go. "You're too sweet."

"No, you're the sweet one," I correct. "That's probably what brought Lavian to you."

"I don't know," he mutters. "Maybe. Let's just... I don't want to talk about Lavian right now."

"That's fine," I concede as we start back towards the camp. I can see I handled this totally wrong. Likely I should just have asked him exactly what he'd been talking about, rather than accuse him of being a liar, but there's not much to be done about it now.

No one says anything when we get back, and he toes Hannibal awake for the latter's watch. I step past them both and over Rafa, then climb back into my blankets.

When morning rolls around, the mood in the campsite is uneasy. At least, it is at first; later, when people begin to note that Ramza and I are not apparently angry at one another, and that Lavian seems fine, things return more or less to normal. I can only wonder what conclusions everyone must have come to from the events of last night, but I can hardly make myself care too much.

Shortly we begin travelling, heading southwest across the salt flats under an unforgiving sun. While it's not as warm as some of the deserts around here, the salt reflects the sunlight like a mirror; hopefully I won't be blind when we reach Limberry later today.

The hours pass in almost absolute silence, broken only by the scraping of boots and claws on the ground. Eventually the flats give way to rolling grassy hills, and every now and then we can spot a farmhouse some distance away. By midafternoon, the tall white spires of Limberry Castle appear as we crest yet another hill. Just beyond it lies the glittering Lake Diara, framing what is really a rather lovely view.

As we get closer, however, the alabaster castle begins to show signs of wear, even disrepair; caught between a dried-up lake and a nasty swamp, Limberry is not nearly so prosperous as it was in Saint Ajora's day. Today it is mostly an agricultural province.

I draw my sword as we approach the castle's gates, but the place is curiously empty. The wind even howls occasionally through the crumbling white stone arches. My skin crawls as I glance around.

"Nobody's here," murmurs Ramza, strolling into what looks to be an entry courtyard. "Are these ruins really deserted? The entrance is open." He shuffles forward again, then stops, cocking his head as though listening to something. "Something's not right. This feels like the times we faced Queklain and Velius."

I nod in silent agreement, advancing a few steps with some of the others. Something is definitely wrong; Limberry, despite its remoteness, is still a place that people at least _live in_, so there ought to be guards here. Was there a battle within, perhaps, like at Riovanes?

"Welcome to Limberry Castle," announces a purring female voice from somewhere above. I glance up, using a hand to shade my eyes against the sun, to see Celia... or Lede... approach on the roof of the castle's entryway. "We've been waiting for you."

"We have a warm welcome for you," adds the other one, appearing a short distance from the first. "We'll burn you to death, so don't run away." The two women are so sculpted, so artificial, that I'm a little surprised they can speak at all.

A handful of hulking demon-shapes shamble out of their hiding places as well, and I see Ramza's face screw up in anger. "Damn," he mutters. "A trap!" Again.

He leaps into motion, edges drawn, while Ironside does likewise. I advance a few steps, then unleash a Lightning Stab at the nearest demon; Lavian summons Ramuh to finish it off and wound another. Whatever happens next, I don't see it, because one of the women invokes some odd spell to freeze me in time.

When I can move again, Opal is reviving a dead Ramza, while Strawberry is working similar magic on Hannibal. The women and the demons are nowhere to be seen.

"Alma," rasps Ramza as he pushes himself up on shaking legs. "Let's go!"

Once everyone is ready, we run into the castle. The interior looks to be in better shape than the outside, fortunately; otherwise I'd probably fear it randomly collapsing on us. As outside, there is literally no one around. It is easy to believe that this place truly is deserted.

Eventually we run into a broad corridor of sorts to see Elmdor waiting, blade at the ready. His chiseled face brightens in an evil smile. "It's payback time for all the disgrace from Riovanes Castle!" he declares. Celia and Lede, apparently unharmed, flank him menacingly.

"Alma," barks Ramza. "Where's my sister? Where is she?"

Elmdor laughs. "You'll have to beat me to find out!"

Ramza shrugs as though this is acceptable, then sprints forward to hack at... I think Celia. I follow a pace behind him, slashing down to summon a Holy Explosion which kills Lede instantly... or, rather, turns her into a demon. Well, crap. When Ironside's blades effect the same change on Celia, it no longer surprises me.

Once all of us are conveniently bunched together, Elmdor blinks into our midsts, then releases a sword-spirit in a way I've never seen done before. Invisible fire tears through me, causing excruciating pain which draws a gasp from my lips, but the sensation is over as soon as it begins. My shuddering doesn't cease so quickly, though.

I'm going to have to learn that one, I decide. If I live.

Celia and Lede... or the demons in their places... quickly recover from their transformation and attack. One smashses Ironside into the ground, from where he does not rise, while the other casts some terrifying spell which does not seem to do anything to Ramza, whom it strikes.

That's a little unnerving, I'll admit, but I turn to catch both the demons in a Lightning Stab. Opal leaps between them, spinning to deliver a punch to each, and the demons explode.

Before I can grin in triumph, however, Elmdor appears in front of me and hisses, lunging for my throat. This catches me totally by surprise, and I scream when his teeth sink into my neck. Life pumps out of me along with my blood, and when he finally releases me, I stumble to my knees.

Something is terribly wrong, I can tell. I feel cold, sluggish; my hands clench and unclench stiffly, as though I've just climbed out of an ice-cold pond. Shaking my head vaguely, I glance up and evaluate what's happening at the moment.

There appear to be several fleshy living things fighting the entity who's my enemy. This confuses me slightly, but although they're in the way, they do not seem aggressive towards me, so I ignore them completely, focusing wholly on sinking my blade into the man who just... just... hurt me, somehow. The memory is foggy, indistinct. Whatever happened, it was bad and I hate him and want him to die.

The crowding around my enemy is severe, so I watch and wait for him to move, and when he finally does, he attacks another of the warm beings. He ignored me to attack them? How stupid. I reward his foolishness by cleaving his torso half-apart. One of the other things hits him as well, and the man collapses to the ground, making odd sounds with his mouth. Then he disappears.

Confused, I turn in place, trying to find him. A fleshy being approaches me, blocking my vision, one of those shelled in cloth rather than metal. It raises its hands, and something sparkles.

I stumble again to my knees, coughing and shaking. "What...?" My voice is a harsh rasp. "What happened?"

"He turned you undead, I think," answers Strawberry almost pityingly. "It's bad, but easily enough reversed." Ramza appears beside her, examining me in concern.

Exhaling heavily, I plant the tip of my blade into the stone floor and push myself to my feet. "Thank you," I acknowledge, and the spellslinger nods. "I don't ever want that to happen again," I mutter.

Ramza helps me along. "I'll see what I can do," he answers dryly, "but now we need to hurry. Elmdor fled downstairs somewhere."

I nod impatiently, and together we run for the doorway at the end of the corridor. Ramza chooses a direction, probably at random, but it works out well enough since we find a stairway leading down in short order. The stairs double back on themselves as they descend, so I hop over the handrails at each end to save us some time.

As we reach the bottom of the stairs and boil out into another chamber, Opal tosses me a scabbarded blade, a beautiful katana that I recognize as having come from Elmdor. I grin my thanks at her.

The smile fades soon, however, when I recognize that we have emerged into an underground cemetery. The only thing in it, apart from the tombs and the dank smell permeating the air, is a wounded Elmdor.

Ramza steps forward to scowl at the silver-haired man. "Elmdor, give up! You don't have a chance! Let Alma go!"

The Lucavi demon in human flesh laughs scornfully. "Oh, you fool," he sighs. "She's not even in this castle! The only ones here are the spirits of the dead!" As he speaks, the hair on the back of my neck raises, and I glance around to see a handful of spectral enemies forming out of the air. "Your life shall also end here, in this graveyard!"

Holding aloft his Zodiac stone, the Marquis summons its foul power, obscuring himself in a shell of spirit-light. After swirling briefly, the light collapses into Elmdor, then explodes outward, revealing a hideous flying insect-like thing where he used to be. "Let's settle this once and for all!" it shrieks in a voice that makes me want to cover my ears.

"What?" gasps a shrill female voice from behind me, one I recognize. I twist to scowl at Meliadoul as she glares past Ramza at the thing I recognize as the Zodiac Brave Zalera. "The Marquis... a monster? This is the power of the Zodiac Stone?"

Ramza twists to face her. "Now you know what I said was true!" His voice is intent, with a note of pleading in it. "Your brother Izlude died because he found the truth and fought them!"

"Oh my God," murmurs Meliadoul numbly; her face has gone pale. "Does Father... Vormav know that?"

Ramza grimaces, shifting uncomfortably. "Well..."

Zalera laughs harshly. "So, you're Vormav's daughter? Just like Izlude, your body isn't suitable for us. But your father's was!"

Meliadoul swallows. "Then... Father was..."

"Yes," hisses Zalera, "he's no longer your father. He's now a blood member of Darkness. But no matter... for now you and Ramza will die here!"

"What you said was true," groans Meliadoul at Ramza. Her hands are shaking, I notice. "I'm sorry." This last comes out almost as a whisper.

"It's okay, Meliadoul," soothes Ramza, readying his blades. "Let's avenge Izlude!" She nods and draws a gleaming milky-white blade.

Almost as one, we all rush Zalera, ignoring the other undead in the place. I hit the demon with a Lightning Stab, while Strawberry unloads a flare of holiness which rips through unnatural flesh with ease.

Zalera, however, is not to be outmatched, and strikes back with some hellish spell I remember Queklain using. The force of the spell knocks Ramza and Ironside clear unconscious, while his minions make a convincing show of trying to hurt us without doing a great deal of harm.

I grimace in worry, ignoring my fallen companions for the moment while I wield my soul against the demon once more. Meliadoul screams in rage while she hacks into its chitinous flesh, and Hannibal falls out of nowhere to crush the thing.

Zalera screams and trembles. "Hashmalum," it gasps. "Sorry. I'm leaving the rest to you." With the last word he explodes in a violent shockwave, dispelling the other undead, leaving only a pure Zodiac stone which drops to the moldy ground and sparkles. Somewhere, a spirit groans in unrest.

"Get the stone," I command to the others, and Opal hurries to retrieve it. I take a moment to kneel beside my fallen friends and slap them lightly awake.

Ramza jerks upright with a start, glancing around wide-eyed for a moment before settling with a sigh. "I can't believe he knocked me out," he grumbles.

"At least he didn't kill you," shrugs Ironside, offering the other man a hand as they both stand. Ramza grunts.

Meliadoul pushes her way towards Ramza, then reaches into her verdant robes and produces yet another holy stone. "Secrets hidden in this stone," she murmurs, her eyes aglow. "I never dreamed! It may be divine, but I thought it was just a strange rock. I never thought collecting them would make a miracle."

"Neither you nor Izlude were informed," notes Ramza, still touching his head gingerly. "Even Wiegraf didn't know until he turned Lucavi. So even the High Priest's plot is being used by Vormav."

The Shrine Knight's lips thin at the mention of her father, but she does not argue. "What are they after?"

"That, I don't know," answers Ramza with a weary shake of his head. "If they wanted to, they could destroy an entire brigade, just like at Riovanes, but they don't use that power outright. There must be a reason why."

"Maybe... they can't use their power outright?" suggests Meliadoul helpfully. "The Lucavi of legend was an unbeatable, ferocious monster." She invests the description with a measure of sarcasm.

"That's right," smiles Ramza. "They don't seem to be the 'immortal evils' the legends say."

"Legends do tend to exaggerate," agrees the robed woman. Then she shrugs. "Maybe Lucavi was just another monster, after all."

"I hope so," sighs Ramza.

Meliadoul glances down at the stone in her hands, hesitating briefly, but then holds it out to him firmly. "I'm going to give you this Zodiac Stone," she decides. "In return, let me go along. I want to know why my father..." She trails off, swallowing, then shakes her head. "Besides..."

Ramza waits, then frowns. "Besides?"

"I want to know why he gave away the Capricorn Stone," she finishes. "Why it was given to Lord Dycedarg. I need to know."

"To my brother?" exclaims Ramza. "Why?"

"That's the point," she smiles. "I don't know." She leans forward intently. "So you'll let me go with you?"

Ramza nods. "Of course. It would be good to have a Shrine Knight with us."

Meliadoul's smile broadens and she continues to gaze at Ramza. She has an... exaggerated personality, I decide, capable of leaping from hatred to worship without stopping anywhere in between. She's dangerous. "It would," she agrees at last. "You'll be surprised how good it'll be having me around."

"Hey," I snap, stepping forward. "Don't tease him like that." Then I blink; I'd not intended to speak.

Meliadoul swivels her hooded head to blink at me in confusion, then claps her hands together and laughs delightedly. Ramza is staring at me as well, I realize, in baffled startlement. Mustadio chuckles, and I notice several of the others grinning. Orlandu's face is suspiciously neutral.

Oh. So... maybe she meant that straightforwardly, not in a teasing way. I squeeze my eyes shut and turn away to hide my heating cheeks. God, I'm such a dunce. Just let me die now and spare me the shame.

"Let's go, Ramza," urges Meliadoul once her laughter has subsided. "This place isn't safe."

"Yes," he agrees. "Then... to Igros." Footsteps and rustling garments announce that the party is hurrying towards the door.

I finally open my eyes and follow everyone, feet dragging. I don't think I'm going to like this.


	9. Chapter 9: Between The Stars

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy Tactics or any of the characters therein. I am using them without permission and will cease to do so if asked. Please don't sue.

* * *

Chapter Nine: Between The Stars 

"This should be a good place," decides Ramza, glancing around. We're several hours west of Limberry Castle, in the midst of green and rolling hills, though they're a little flatter and farther between than they are farther east. Copses of green trees dot the slope here and there, growing thicker as our travel progressed today, and they will continue to do so tomorrow while we keep on towards Dolbodar Swamp.

"Every place around here is equally good," opines Meliadoul absently, sounding almost bored as she studies the rest of the party. "There's no one in ten miles but farmers."

"Well, I still want a hill," mutters Ramza. "They're defensible."

The emerald-robed knight spares him a withering look and he falls silent. "Of course they are," she agrees dryly. "What's wrong with _this _hill?" The peak on which we stand boasts a clear area at least fifty paces across, with a good view of the surrounding terrain.

"Nothing," he insists irritably. "I just _said _this place looked good!"

"So camp here!" snaps Meliadoul, rolling her eyes. "God."

Ramza glances at me as though for assistance, but I cross arms over my chest with a grim smile. You let her come along with us; you deal with her.

Shaking his head mutely, Ramza nods back at the rest of the party and shrugs out of his backpack. The others slow and do likewise, stretching backs and chatting.

"Whose turn is it to get the fire going?" wonders Mustadio. "Alicia's?"

"It's y..." Ramza pauses, then frowns. "No, wait..."

"Yes," I answer for him, smiling at the mechanic. "You're not until tomorrow night."

Mustadio nods and wanders off. Meliadoul frowns after him, then shifts the expression consideringly to Ramza. I don't think she's aware that she's staring.

I'm fairly certain I know what she's thinking about. From the conversation between the two of them while we travelled, she had expected Ramza to be a bloodthirsty brute of a man, or at the least a considerably more... forceful... personality. Finding out that he's as mild as the milk he typically drinks does not seem to have diminished her respect for him, but it has given her a rather healthy amount of impatience for what she perhaps sees as indecisiveness. I think she's still trying to figure him out, trying to reconcile nice Ramza with battle Ramza.

She must sense my gaze, for she turns to me with a sharp frown. "What?"

I blink, then stroll over to where she is. "Do you want your sword back?" I ask, touching the hilt of the weapon we stole from her in Bervenia.

Meliadoul shifts her attention to the blade, then giggles. "No, that's allright. I've got Save the Queen now," she explains, patting the hilt of the weapon currently on her hip. "You can keep that one, sweetie."

_Sweetie?_ I hesitate, glancing with narrowed eyes towards Ramza, but he's actually watching us from where he's standing a short distance away, so rather than punching Meliadoul, I shrug and walk away.

Rafa appears by my side, smiling at the ground. "Don't worry about her, Agrias," she murmurs. "She's just trying to prove herself with everyone here."

I snort, shuffling over to where Lavian is producing rations from a backpack. "I think she's just like that all the time," I admit.

"Well, maybe," shrugs the white-clad woman. "She means well, though."

"Oh, I know." I smile in thanks as Lavian hands me some dried meat and an apple we found earlier in the day. "I'm not worried about that, at least."

Rafa smiles as well as she receives her own food, and we stroll a short distance away and sit together, literally; she actually leans against my back, settling in there comfortably. I've grown used to how touchy-feely she is, but it's kind of odd how she's only that way with me.

Shortly Malak folds himself up next to us and says nothing, instead just gazing distantly off over the hills as he eats. He still doesn't speak very often.

Once Meliadoul figures out how the food is to be dispensed, she grabs some from Lavian and then stands in place, glancing around the campsite. Her face is oddly stiff as her eyes dart from one small group to the next, and I find myself blinking; she doesn't know where to sit. This is the first gap I've seen in her armor, the first flickering in her blinding overconfidence.

Eventually her hood swings towards where Ramza is slapping dried mud from his breeches and she sets out towards him, her stride long and purposeful. The knight folds herself up, sitting beside him, and her face lights up to laugh at something he says in greeting. I can hear her response but can't make out the words at this distance; her voice is loud, and carries well.

Shadows grow longer as we eat, but not by much, so with a belly that's at least not rumbling emptily, I stand and find a bokken among our party's belongings. Alicia appears beside me, rummaging about until she finds paired wooden blades to take the place of the ninja edges she just started carrying. Opal and Malak begin heading over towards us as well.

I face off against my former subordinate and begin battling without a word. Though she's still unfamiliar with the two-weapon technique, she is lithe and quick, and only the bokken's greater reach keeps me from earning a body full of bruises.

As we fought, others wander over as well, Ramza to match blades against Ironside and Meliadoul against Hannibal. The Shrine Knight seemed surprised, by what I heard, that we train against one another so often, but the news apparently pleased her well enough because she leapt right in.

When Alicia and I finally finish, Hannibal and Meliadoul are winding down as well, and little wonder, with all the metal they're carrying around. I'm armored as well, of course, but the bokken is light and I don't have a shield weighing down my off arm.

"So," exhales Meliadoul, wiping sweat from her forehead. "You all do this every night?"

"Pretty much," nods Hannibal, grinning. "Not used to it, are you?"

The Shrine Knight shakes her head. "I will be, though."

"Good," snorts Hannibal. Still grinning, he roams off in search of Strawberry to bother. Alicia follows him, stretching and grimacing, leaving me alone with Meliadoul. Thanks, Alicia.

"You people are good," observes the robed woman absently, watching the others spar. Her tone indicates that this is not a compliment so much as a surprise, that anyone would even approach her level of competence. Wooden blades clack here and there in a syncopated clatter.

I know we're good, Meliadoul. We beat you, remember? I try to keep from smiling smugly as I nod. "Skill follows effort." As I watch, Orlandu steps to interrupt Opal and Malak, offering pointers to both.

She frowns at the only other pair still fighting. "Look at Ramza," she murmurs, giving no indication she heard what I just said. "He's so fast. So precise. It's like you could drop a sheet of paper in front of him, and he could carve it into a flower before it hit the ground."

I spare her a wry glance. "Haven't you ever seen ninjas fight before?"

Meliadoul blinks at me briefly before resuming her study of the distant men, little more than battling silhouettes in the growing twilight. "Of course," she replies distantly. "He seems different somehow, though."

I chew a pensive lip at this but say nothing. Boots whispering in grass announce the arrival of Mustadio, eating an apple, but I don't think Meliadoul notices, caught up as she is in her study of the man she was planning to kill earlier today. A short distance away, Malak and Opal conclude their practice, bowing to each other, then wander back with Orlandu.

"Isn't he?" presses Meliadoul, still not looking at me. "Different, I mean."

Of course Ramza is different. He's unique. "He is," I agree. "Everything he does, he puts his whole heart into it. Battling isn't just a profession for him; it's part of him. A part he still hates."

Meliadoul raises her eyebrows suggestively at the seriousness of my answer, then tosses her head and stares at the Beoulve once more. "He's so quiet," she notes. "Not at all like what I thought. It's kind of cute, really."

Heat grips my heart at this; I'm not certain what emotion it is, but after a moment it fades. "Others have found him so," I agree carefully.

The other woman's lips curve, perhaps hearing a challenge in my words rather than the warning I intended. "Nice ass, too. Don't you think so? Look at it."

I scowl in Ramza's direction. "I don't pay attention to things like that."

"I'm sure," she replies sarcastically. Chuckling quietly, she shakes her head, then twitches, apparently just now noticing Mustadio. "What are you looking at?" she snaps, glaring at him.

The mechanic gazes at her mutely for a time, chewing a mouthful of apple, then swallows. "Did you know your full name is an anagram of 'illuminated ogle?'"

"What? What the hell does that mean?"

Mustadio glances at me for some reason, then shrugs. Taking another bite from his apple, he leaves, strolling back towards the rest of the camp.

Silence falls between myself and the suddenly-irritated Meliadoul. In the deepening twilight, Ramza and Ironside continue to challenge one another, honing their skills with the dedication that only masters possess. Stars wink down from above in odd patches; clouds have moved in, obscuring some of them.

Finally I sigh. "We'll be doing watches shortly. I suspect yours will be the morning watch, but ask Ramza to be certain."

She grins. "Thanks, Agrias. I'll do that."

I nod, turning to walk back to the others to set up my bedding. I don't think she realizes I'm not fond of her.

The next day it rains. Not heavily, but constantly. We march under the steady precipitation towards where the fertile Dolbodar turns the surrounding landscape into a riot of choking vegetation, a swamp to rival any other I've seen. The distinction between river and bank seems to blur here, and most times the ground sloshes rather than squishes under my footsteps. The trees above us help to keep away some of the rain, but by that point I'm already so soaked it doesn't matter.

Like many uncivilized places, Dolbodar Swamp has a reputation as being a haven for monsters, but they leave us alone as we travel. Or perhaps the reputation is overblown. In any case, what the swamp does seem to possess in abundance is snakes, and not all of them are on the ground.

At one point as we're walking, or wading -- I can't really tell -- Lavian screams. I whirl around in surprise and see that a hand-thick snake has fallen from the trees onto the summoner.

Ironside reacts with instant violence, pivoting to punch the offending creature, but this just sends a flailing Lavian stumbling into Meliadoul, knocking the latter woman off-balance as well. Hannibal leaps over to grip the snake in one gauntleted fist and manages to wrestle the panicked serpent away from Lavian. As he does so, a large splash announces Meliadoul's fall into a mud puddle big enough to fit a morbol or two.

The party turns to watch uneasily as the Shrine Knight pushes her face slowly and deliberately above the surface of the murky water, growling like an angry cat. The snake, forgotten, slithers quietly away through the damp underbrush.

I sigh. I don't like Meliadoul, but she doesn't need everyone just standing and staring at her. Stepping into the water, I make my way carefully towards her.

Somehow Ramza beats me there, wading through the hip-deep muck. "Meliadoul," he murmurs, holding a hand down, "here."

The woman's murderous scowl fades into cool neutrality as she blinks up at him. Finally she places a gloved hand in his own, accepting his help as he leans back, lifting her to her feet out of the swampwater. "Thank you," she admits stiffly, frowning at him as though weighing him anew.

"It's nothing," shrugs Ramza, turning to slog back through the water with her towards solid ground. "You'll be cold, too," he decides. "You can have my raincloak." As he speaks, he unfastens the oiled cloth from around his neck, then drapes it over her shoulders.

Meliadoul fingers the water-beaded material for a moment before her face relaxes into a pleased grin. "Such a gentleman," she observes slyly, though without malice. "You should have a care who you show your kindness to. You might not know what effect it has on people." Ramza blushes at her words.

As I watch them, I can feel my eyes narrow. My fists clench of their own accord.

I don't like this. Not at all. I was happy before, with Ramza and everyone. He shared much of his time with me, talked to me all the time, but now _she's_ here and she's going to mess everything up. I don't know what to do, though. If she tries to claim him, I really have no right and no reason to try to stop her. Though I'm not sure Ramza would have any of it; wouldn't his "someone else" get in the way again? Someday I'd like to meet this mysterious woman. Or man. But probably woman.

"Agrias?" calls Alicia, staring at me oddly while the rest of the party resumes travel. "Are you coming?"

I blink at her, realizing I'm still in the middle of the water where they left me. Muttering, I nod quickly and stride over to drier ground.

The rest of the day's travel passes without further mishap. I walk in the middle, though, instead of the front; if Ramza wants to be all gallant to our new knight, let him.

It stops raining just before we stop for the night. We've passed through the swamp, by now, and have emerged into some hills that will grow even rougher by the time we pass Bethla tomorrow. There are still plenty of trees about, though no one would call this place a forest.

As we begin to set up our camp on the soggy ground, Opal produces a trio of rocks and begins juggling them. I smile faintly at that; I've been travelling with her for almost a year and didn't know she could do it. Rafa approaches the monk, smiling, asking for Opal to teach her, and within moments half the party is hunting about for suitable rocks.

Thus it happens that we juggle in lieu of training with weapons tonight. I even try my hand it, only to find I've no skill at all. Mustadio seems to excel, though; I suspect he knew how to do it before and just didn't say anything.

Eventually the clouds above break up, revealing slices of diamond-dusted sky and a bare sliver of shining moon. I end up sitting with Ramza and Strawberry, watching the others trying to juggle in the dark. Mostly it seems to involve laughing and dropping rocks.

"We should have tried that with something softer," sighs Ramza, examining one bruised thumb. "Rocks hurt."

Strawberry snorts. "That's why you don't get your hand between them when they're flying towards each other."

He frowns at her. "That's easy for you to say. You didn't even try it."

The spellcaster smiles. "Indeed not. And so my hands are uninjured."

I snicker at this. Ramza eyes me as though in reproach, but he ruins it by breaking into a smile as well.

"How long do you suppose they'll go?" I wonder aloud, nodding at the aspiring jugglers in the center of our largish clearing.

Strawberry shrugs, idly examining her fingernails. "Until someone else gets hurt, I would think."

Ramza turns a frown on the gathered others. "Well, I don't want anyone else to get hurt. And I'm not, really. It's just a bruise."

I give his shoulder a friendly push. "She's just making fun of you," I explain. The spellcaster chuckles.

"Oh. Right." He shakes his head.

Silence falls between the three of us. Laughter bubbles over from the others after Rafa drops another rock on her foot.

"Where's Meliadoul?" asks Strawberry idly.

Ramza twitches, then studies the jugglers before finally sighing. "I don't know. I'll go find her." He pushes himself to his feet.

Something tickles my mind, my bodyguard's senses recognizing something amiss. Meliadoul is a crafty, clever tactician, I recall; she ambushed us expertly in Bervenia, and she was certainly intending to attack us from behind in Limberry while we were fighting Elmdor. Something is going on here.

"No," I urge, reaching to touch his wrist. "Don't bother. I can do it."

He turns to eye me, then beams a smile. "Okay. Thank you, Agrias."

"Don't mention it," I reply, rising fluidly to my feet. As Ramza settles back with Strawberry, I scan my surroundings with a critical eye. If I were Meliadoul, where would I have gone? After a moment of hesitation, I start jogging down the gentle slope and into the trees.

I move as quietly as I am able through a blanket of leaves and the scattered underbrush. The broken moonlight above makes this place a thicket of shadows as well as of trees.

By instinct alone I travel, pausing every now and then to listen to my surroundings. I am not an expert hunter by any means, but I can listen to the call of birds and animals, noting where they seem louder and where quieter. I know that some will have moved as the Shrine Knight passed, and others will flee her wherever she is now. Silence is my guide here.

Perhaps twenty minutes later, I step carefully down a rather rough bush-studded incline and emerge onto a broad flat rock jutting into a small pond, little more than a watering hole, a mere twenty-five paces across. Meliadoul is standing in the water not far from me at all, perhaps five paces, in water up to her waist; it must be a rocky bottom, to grow so deep so close to the edge. Her belongings, including clothes, are neatly folded together near my feet.

The knight's back is to me, and she is bent forward, shaking her head in the water. As I watch, she stands upright, flinging her hair back over her head. It is brown, I note, like Izlude's, and hangs not quite to her shoulders. Moonlight paints silver streaks on her pale skin as water runs down back into the pond.

She pauses, wrapping arms slowly about her chest, though I can still see only her back. "Is someone there?" she calls softly, head tilted to one side; her voice lacks the startlement or agitation I am listening for, almost as though she expected someone to come.

I smile slightly, squatting to retrieve her emerald robe. So that's what her ploy was. Clever. "Yes," I answer. "Someone is."

Meliadoul leaps, whirling around to face me with wide eyes and an open mouth. For a moment she just stands there, dripping, then gives herself a shake. "My God," she breathes. "I thought... I thought you were..."

..._Ramza_, I finish silently for her. She doesn't even have any soap or anything here, and the mud from earlier today has long since been rinsed from her body. She's just been waiting for him to come here and find her unclothed. My heart pounds, a furious drum within my chest. "For God's sake, Meliadoul," I mutter, tossing her robe to her. "Put some clothes on."

She catches the garment but still continues to stare at me as though I represent some profound and cosmic mystery. Eventually she blinks, shifting her gaze to the bundle in her damp arms. "I... Okay. I will."

I nod, folding arms over my chest, and wait. It's not that I don't trust her, exactly, but a little extra safety never hurts.

When I don't move, she scowls at me. "What are you staring at, Agrias? Do you want some?" Though she holds her arms out to her sides, exposing her breasts, her voice makes it clear she's issuing a challenge, not a proposition. She's just trying to make me uncomfortable, to gain the upper hand here. She thinks she can drive me away, thinks perhaps I won't tell Ramza what happened, out of embarassment. He'd have to come find her anyway, in that case.

"Hardly," I answer, backing up a couple of paces to give her room on the rock. "I'm waiting to make sure you dress. I don't think you'd march back to the camp in just your skin to get Ramza's attention, but I also don't think it's beyond you." I feel like I'm talking to a child, which is curious; she's my age, or maybe a little older, but I can't help but think of her as a younger woman, maybe a teenager.

She glares at me, lips curled in a sneer, as she starts sloshing towards me. "Why do you care?" she snaps. "You're not his mother or his lover."

I shuffle backwards again, stepping from the rock onto the adjacent mossy soil. "That's true," I concede evenly. "But he's a good man. He deserves better than to have you toying with him like this. He's completely inexperienced in these matters." Well, except for the incident with Lavian. And apparently... Kyoko, or whatever her name was, whom he knew before. Hmm. "You could easily hurt him."

"I _know _he's a good man," mutters the Shrine Knight, climbing out of the water and onto the rock. "Don't you think I know that? That's why I'm _here_. It's why I like him. I don't see what's so wrong with that."

"Discounting the battle in Bervenia," I observe, "you've known him for a day and a half. Is that really enough time to make such a decision?"

Her eyebrows lift in surprise. "Why wouldn't it be? You don't have to know someone for years before you can realize that. I've seen him; I know he's cute and he's got a good heart. Why wait?"

I shake my head helplessly. "Please, just dress." God, she's better endowed than I am, isn't she? Not that I care. I'm not competing for anything. She's prettier, too, with little brown freckles on her cheeks. I hate that. I also hate that she's taller than me, almost Ramza's height, forcing me to stare up to meet her gaze. Not that that matters to me either.

Meliadoul mutters under her breath, something that sounds off-color, but she does what I ask, slipping the robe over her head and climbing into her boots. She retrieves her armor from where it's sitting but does not don it, instead just holding it in her arms.

Once she's ready to move, however, she doesn't. She stands there on the rock, face still wet, and stares at me. The usual confidence is no longer in her eyes, green eyes like the color of her robes; in its place is something almost like fear. "Don't tell him," she urges in a low, pleading voice but unable to say the additional word.

I shake my head slowly. "I won't. Don't worry." I probably should, but despite my irritation I have no wish to humiliate her. "Let's go."

She nods, and together we set off up the incline and through the trees. There is little conversation as we travel, just one brief exchange.

"You like him too," she states, not looking at me.

"I don't," I counter. "Not like that."

"You do."

"I don't."

Meliadoul drops it there, and I fight a sigh. Does she really think I'd contrive some game to get him to see me naked? If I wanted him to see me unclothed, I'd make sure he did. Well... okay, maybe I wouldn't; that would be awfully difficult and rather embarassing, and I'm not forward like that anyway.

My cheeks heat as we walk. She's a terrible influence.

When we finally get back to the camp, it's not soon enough. She goes one way to make her damp bedding, and I go another to make mine. Ramza eyes me in question from where he's sitting watch, but I shake my head and shrug, and he simply nods.

It's at least a little drier when we wake the next morning. Soon we're off travelling, with me once again at the front with Ramza... and Meliadoul. Every now and then she gives me an odd glance, and I'll admit I probably do the same to her, but there is a slim measure of respect between us now, or at least of comfort, as we've each found some measure of advantage over the other: she thinks she's learned something secret and insightful about me, and I've seen her naked. Also, I know she's not merely teasing Ramza, although that fact in itself presents difficulties.

In addition, it doesn't hurt that I now have dirt on her. I wouldn't use it -- I gave my word -- but it's there nonetheless.

By midday we pass Bethla Garrison, never getting more than a half-mile from the fort. Ramza points out the lake, which looks perhaps a little smaller than it was before, to Meliadoul, and explains everything we did that day. To hear him tell it, he did nothing at all, while the rest of us came up with all the ideas and did all the work, and Meliadoul smiles. I think she sees through his modesty.

They chat for a fair amount of the day, getting to know one another, much like Ramza and myself once did. He explains about his family and his childhood, stories I've heard before but still like hearing again, if only because they're windows into his personality. Meliadoul talks about her own past as well, being raised by Vormav -- who apparently used to be a loving father -- and growing up with Izlude, whom she loved. She learned the sword as a girl, she said, and wanted to grow up to be like her father.

I can't say I care for the correlations between her story and mine; they paint us in similar colors, make us out to be more alike than I want us to be. Still, I suppose we are both knights, and if it weren't for the complication of Ramza's presence I might not even mind her very much.

When we make camp that night in another set of hills -- this part of the world is rather uneven -- we eat, then train as usual. To my discomfort, I find that the only person remaining for me to battle is Meliadoul. Serves me right for chatting so long with Rafa over my food, I suppose.

The Shrine Knight's face is a grim mask of concentration as we battle, and I wonder if, in her mind, we are fighting for more than the simple reward of learning. Regardless, after an hour I believe I come out ahead, though I still have plenty of bruises; although she's fast and fierce with the blade, she hasn't had the advantage of running around Ivalice for months with a bunch of crazies who want to learn everything about everything where fighting is concerned.

If the sparring has more than one meaning for her, though, she's at least very proper about it. After we are done she even bows to me in respectful samurai fashion, and I make certain to return the gesture with sincerity. If we are indeed opponents in some game or other, she is a worthy foe.

All of her decorum vanishes after the blades go away, however. As a campfire blazes on one end of the camp, the three of us lay on our backs at the other end, gazing up at the stars. Meliadoul reaches out and plays idly with Ramza's hair the entire time. If he notices anything out of the ordinary, however, I can't tell; he seems as happy and thoughtful as ever.

During one of many lulls in the sparing conversation we keep, I glance over to watch her with a frown. She's not just playing with his hair now; she's actually caressing it, if absently, as though they are lovers falling asleep after a night of passion. Ramza's face is a portrait of contemplation as he stares up at the dusty sky.

It hurts, I'll admit, to see her touching him like that. I don't know why, if it's Meliadoul's irksome presence, or if the years of loneliness are finally catching up with me, but it makes me want to cry, makes my stomach physically hurt seeing her affectionate fingers in his hair.

I want that, I realize. I want someone to do that to me.

The stars begin blurring, and I blink my eyes a few times to clear them. How did this happen? I'm so old now, so used to keeping my distance, I'll probably never find anyone. Who would even want me, anyway? Most men likely see me as distant and curt. I squeeze my eyes shut and chew a lip to keep it still.

"What are you thinking about, Agrias?" wonders Ramza from where he lies next to me. Fortunately, the angle of his voice suggests he is speaking at the sky, not looking at me.

I swallow a bitter laugh at his timing. Rather than answer right away, I wait a moment until I'm certain I can speak without my voice cracking. "I'm thinking about nothing," I answer truthfully. A whole lot of nothing. That's what's going to be in my love life for the forseeable future, probably the rest of my life.

"Oh, come on," he entreats mildly. "How can you look at the stars and think of nothing?"

"Because that's what's between them all," answers Meliadoul in my place. "That's most of what's up there."

Ramza chuckles, and silence again falls over the three of us, but he must not have gotten the answer he wanted, because eventually he prompts again. "Agrias?"

"Well, I think of _something _a lot," I shrug. "It's only fair that I give _nothing _a chance."

"Whoah," he says after a moment. "That's profound."

I snort, but say nothing. Why is it he almost never finds fault with anything I say? It's endearing, but it can be odd.

He does not ask Meliadoul her thoughts, though, I note. Likely he just knows she'll tell them to him whether he asks or not.

Long moments pass. I can hear Orlandu's deep laugh from the fire; Lavian is probably telling one of her stories again. The night is growing a bit chilly, and the warmth of the fire appeals to me, but I can't find the will to get up.

Once more Ramza is the one to break the silence. "It's about time to sleep," he sighs. "I'm going to start on watches again. Meliadoul, you'll take last again?"

"I will," vows the Shrine Knight quietly. "No harm will come to us while I'm on watch."

"Good," chuckles Ramza, slowly climbing to his feet. "I'll go tell the others."

As he wanders off, Meliadoul rises as well and trots after him. My stomach twists up in knots again, but I tell myself she's probably just going to bed. If she didn't try to steal into his blankets last night, she probably won't tonight either.

With them gone, I lie alone under the stars. Totally alone. Odd; once, the stars meant companionship, back when I would share Ramza's watches with him. I enjoyed those times. I was happy. I suppose I could do it again now, with so many of us on watch duty anyway, but it would probably strike him as out-of-place or inappropriate.

Eventually I sigh and rise, if only because lying on a blanket will be more comfortable than lying on the ground. Meliadoul is indeed curled up into a ball in her own bedroll, I note, though the sight barely does anything to relieve the coldness in the pit of my stomach.

I fall asleep almost as soon as my head hits the pillow. I guess I just don't feel like being awake anymore. When Opal wakes me to take my watch I do so silently, feeling as though every motion is an effort of will. Meliadoul hasn't twitched a muscle in the intervening time, though. Once my hour is done I poke Rafa awake and seek my bedding.

Later, morning sunlight on my eyelids wakes me. I sit up, realizing that I'm the last one out of my blankets, though I can see at a glance that both Hannibal and Strawberry have themselves risen just moments before.

Rolling to my feet, I stretch and wipe the sleep away from my eyes. My lips are dry after sleeping so I drink briefly from my waterskin. I've been at this so long I barely even notice the taste anymore.

Ramza wanders over near me, looking at the ground for some reason. When he realizes he's near me, he glances up with a warm smile. "Oh, hello, Agrias."

Despite my bleak mood, I feel myself smiling back at him. He can do that to me. "Good morning."

"Have you seen my other bracer?" he asks hopefully. By way of explanation, he holds up his left hand, which boasts the steel-reinforced leather gloves and wristbands he prefers.

"Why would I have seen your bracer?" I ask dryly, glancing around. "I just got up."

He shrugs. "I don't know. I just thought you might have seen it."

"Well, have you looked under all of your bedding?" He's made that mistake before.

"Yes," he sighs in exasperation. "Of course I did that."

"How about over by where you sat for watch duty?" I suggest. "You might have left it there."

He shakes his head. "I remember taking it off when I went to bed."

I spread my hands. "This wouldn't happen if you remembered to put them in the same place before you sleep every night."

"I do that already," he mutters, frowning around, even lifting my own blankets with a boot to peer under them, perhaps suspecting I've stolen his precious bracer. "You know I always put everything in a pile on my left side."

I smile. "I don't know that."

"You've seen me do it a hundred times," he replies absently. Sighing, he plants hands on his hips and glances around, scowling. And suddenly it occurs to me that I love him.

My eyes widen so much at this I'm surprised they don't fall out of my face. I can feel everything sliding around in my head, getting sucked into some new place, and though I'm looking at the same man I saw yesterday, it's totally different now, like those street artists who sell you drawings of vases that turn out to be of two opposing faces in profile instead.

It's true, though. I love him. I love him dearly. I want to touch him, hold him, kiss him. I want to run my fingers through his hair, want to... to lick his face, to consume him until there's nothing left, until we're both just one entity that everyone can call... Agriamza. I want to touch him how women touch men, want to have his children, want to see his smiling face grow a day older every morning I wake to see it on my pillow. I love him.

I'm shaking. I draw a trembling breath and remember to close my mouth. My God, I'm shaking like a leaf in a gale.

Ramza glances absently up at me, then does a double take, blinking widely, a stag caught staring down the length of a hunter's arrow. "Agrias," he asks, reaching idly up to play with the hair on the back of his head, "why are you looking at me like that?" His smile is nervous and uncomfortable, his tone doubtful.

Oh, God. Think of something. "Have... you... checked with Hannibal?" I ask faintly. "He likes to borrow your things without asking."

He frowns at me, then smiles. "Oh, true. That's a good idea. Thanks!" He trots off happily towards where the lancer is twisting back and forth, doing his morning stretches.

As he leaves, my legs give out, depositing me none too gently on the ground. All I can do is stare after him. His smile is so beautiful. Even Hannibal laughs and smiles at whatever Ramza says to him, and Opal, nearby, chuckles as well as the lancer indeed produces the bracer in question from his backpack. Everyone likes Ramza. Everyone is made comfortable in his presence.

I _love _him, though. I want him so badly.

But not right now. Exhaling heavily, I glance down at myself and survey the equipment near me. Not yet. I'm still new at this, and I don't want to do something stupid and drive him away. But if I wait too long, Meliadoul will sink her claws into him and... but, wait, that can't happen because he says he has... my God, could his "there's someone else" be me? Could he have thought that far ahead?

"Agrias," whispers a voice sharply behind me. Someone taps my shoulder.

I leap into the air and whirl around to face Rafa. "What?" I ask in a whisper. My teeth are chattering, though the morning is pleasant and warm. My God. How long? How long have I felt this way without even knowing it?

My white-clad friend's full lips curve in a smile. "I know that look," she explains in a low voice, nodding past me towards Ramza. "You figured it out, didn't you?"

"Figured what... wait." I pause, and horror unfolds in black waves through my chest. "You knew," I realize weakly, staring into her liquid brown eyes. "Everyone knew. Everyone but me."

She shrugs easily, still smiling. "Sometimes that's the way it goes. Don't sweat it."

"'Don't sweat it,'" I echo, shaking my head helplessly. "I'm such an ass." My God, the thing with the boot... it all makes sense now. What else did I miss? I sigh, still unable to understand the magnitude of what just happened. "What do I even _do _now, Rafa? Do I just tell him?"

The other woman's lips thin consideringly. "I wouldn't," she advises slowly. "At least, not yet. I'm certain he once felt the same way for you, but it's been so long now that he may have convinced himself to move on... to Meliadoul, perhaps. She's certainly an eyeful." Rafa pauses, eyeing the Shrine Knight before returning her attention to me. "If I were you, I'd see if the fire still burns before you go about adding wood to it."

I nod, having little choice but to accept her advice. "How would... how do I do that?"

"Touch him," she suggests with a grin. "Like Meliadoul's been doing, just a little bit at a time, to see how he reacts. Though, that might not work if you're worried about him feeling pressured from all the sudden attention. If you want, I can try to ask him myself. He might tell me."

I plant my face in my open hands. "I don't know, Rafa," I groan. "I have absolutely no experience doing this."

"I don't have much more," she admits pleasantly. "But I've seen a lot. I watch, and I pay attention."

"I..." I trail off, trying to think it through. "I'd like to try it myself first, and if that doesn't work I might ask you to ask him." God, this is just like when children go through this, friends asking friends which other friends they like. I feel vaguely bad enlisting Rafa's aid -- Meliadoul has no such resources she can call on in this battle -- but damn it, he's mine and I want him.

"Okay," nods Rafa, smiling. "Let me know if you need any help."

On impulse, I lean forward to hug her. "Thank you," I mumble. "Thank you for... knowing, and helping."

Her arms tighten around my ribs. "You've always been a friend to me," she replies into my ear. "I want you to be happy."

Tears wet my cheeks from her words. Releasing the woman, I sniffle and smile, scrubbing at my eyes. Good God, I need to get a hold of myself.

Rafa laughs, that low and intimate sound I've come to love. "I'll leave you alone for now," she decides. "Good luck."

I nod mutely as she rises and wanders off. Malak ghosts after her from where he'd been squatting a short distance away; he glances at me with an unreadable expression as he passes, and I can only wonder at what he must be thinking.

Drawing a deep breath, I hold it for a slow count of ten, then exhale. I am calm. I am cold water. I am the reflection of the kingfisher skimming over rippling waves.

Rising, I calmly go about my morning duties, placing some supplies carefully into my backpack and fitting the rest onto my person somewhere. My hands move automatically, folding my blankets up and then tying them into a tight roll which fits atop the backpack.

In moments we're travelling. I take point again with Ramza and Meliadoul. The Shrine Knight starts the morning talking to him, and her words fade to a buzz in my ears without thinking. Hopefully in Ramza's too.

What is my plan, then? I can't do anything on the road; even if we had the privacy, there wouldn't be time, and vice versa. We'll cross Zirekile Falls today, where Ramza first fought his commander to help Ovelia and myself. Perhaps... it will have to be after we stop. I can't count on having his time to myself while we eat, and then he'll want to train... after that, then. I'll sequester him then. Perhaps Meliadoul can be... diverted, somehow; Rafa would help with that, I'll bet.

When we pause around midday to eat, I make a point to speak with Meliadoul, not about anything in particular; we chat about the waterfall, and about travelling and so on. My only goal is to keep her from interacting with Ramza while we're stopped. I'm not going to flirt with him while she's present, but the reverse isn't true, and I won't let her gain any extra ground on me today.

The Shrine Knight speaks happily and at length about Mount Algost, the source of the river. She seems to know a lot about it, but she doesn't have any idea what I'm up to.

In a way, my earlier denial helps me. Meliadoul's defenses are still down around me.

We spend only a few moments to eat, then continue moving again. Less than an hour later, we're interrupted by a monster attack. Apart from Ironside's wits getting temporarily addled by a mindflare, they don't hurt us much.

One interesting thing I note about the fight is how Meliadoul battles. I know from experience that her special skills are absolutely devastating against human enemies, but they seem curiously ineffective against monsters. Not that it makes her any less fearsome; if anything, this disadvantage just serves to make her mad. She screams like a valkyrie, swinging that great blade of hers around to cleave monster flesh apart as though our enemies were made of butter.

In any event, the battle takes just a few moments and then we are off again. We don't stop again until just before nightfall, when we make camp perhaps a mile before the eastern edge of Araguay Woods.

When we eat, I sit next to Ramza and say little. Meliadoul is there, of course; if I try to keep her from him too much, she'll begin to suspect something is happening. Her influence is also moderated by the presence of Rafa and Malak. I smile at that; my friend is probably trying to lend surreptitious aid by crowding the Shrine Knight's sense of intimacy.

Due to my lack of conversation, I finish the meal quickly, then head over to a flat area and find one of the bokken the party keeps. To my surprise, Ramza strolls over as well; I suppose he didn't say much while we ate, either.

As he finds a pair of practice edges, he eyes me in question. "You and me, then?" No one else has finished yet but us.

"That would be nice," I nod. In more ways than you know, Ramza.

He smiles, and we begin to train. I press him as hard as I always do; I can't afford to do anything differently, not tonight. However, I find that I'm becoming distracted from time to time as we perform the blade dance. I never really noticed before how the muscles in his arms stand out when he fights. He's far from powerfully-built, but he's wiry and extremely fit, and I have to concentrate to keep my eyes on his face. This close, I can also smell him. Sure, he's sweaty and dirty like I am, but past that I can just smell... Ramza. When we grapple too closely, I notice my knees growing weak, so I endeavor to keep him at arm's reach. For now.

As dusk proceeds in its daily conquest of the light, the others slowly wander over in pairs to battle. Tonight Meliadoul is with Alicia, and the two women appear to be keeping one another grimly occupied. Good.

Eventually the bruises on my arms and ribs tell me I've fought enough. Lowering my blade slightly, I glance a question at Ramza.

He understands instantly, smiling at me. "Yeah. I think we've had enough."

"Good," I answer, grinning in return. Side by side, we wander back to where Strawberry and Lavian are sitting by the fire.

Ramza sits down a short distance away from the two women and works his shoulders with a grimace. Now is my chance, I realize; my mouth goes nervously dry at the thought.

Quickly I glance back at the others, but Meliadoul is still trying to keep Alicia's sneaky blades at bay. Nodding to myself, I turn back to Ramza and nudge his thigh with a boot. "Sore?"

He chuckles. "When am I not, after that?"

"Maybe I can help," I murmur, dropping to my knees behind him. I smother ruthlessly any hesitation quivering inside me, then reach forward to grip his shoulders. His muscles there are loose, but I can feel tension that perhaps grows slightly under my touch. Without saying anything, I begin to squeeze and knead, working out the knots and aches he must be feeling. I've so seldom touched him like this, without armor or gloves or anything between us, just a single layer of clothing.

As it dawns on him what I'm doing, he shifts. "Agrias, what are... oh, God." He melts in my grasp, head dropping to his chest. "I'm warning you; I'm giving you about... three hours to stop that."

I smile at the back of his head. It's all I can do not to just slip my hands farther down his chest and rub my cheek against his neck. Then he could reach his arms back around my shoulders, pulling me closer for a kiss, maybe whispering some loving things into...

No. I have to concentrate, or I'm going to start shaking again. This is friend Ramza, I remind myself, not lover Ramza. This is not the Ramza who's going to father my children some day; he's the one I've stolen from the jaws of death countless times before, who's done the same to me. He's the Ramza who stammers when inns' serving girls pinch his cheeks, the Ramza who can't juggle, who still stops to smile at rainbows. The Ramza who went hungry one night in Mandalia when he couldn't bring himself to eat a mother deer Opal had accidentally slain while hunting.

"Agrias," he says again, drowsily, as I work my way down to his shoulder blades, "where did you learn to do that so well?"

I find myself smiling again. "I know a lot about muscles," I explain vaguely. Training as a monk helped immensely with that.

He chuckles, his whole body swaying once as he does so. "I think you're... different today," he continues vaguely.

"Oh?" Well, I suppose I couldn't hide all the longing looks I might have given him. "Different how?"

"I'm not sure," he answers helplessly. "Maybe... you're more attentive, somehow. That might be it. I'm... not used to you touching me either, now that I think about it."

Oh, right. I suppose I would have avoided that, before this morning. I still can't believe it took me this long to... well, anyway. "Is that a problem?"

"No!" he answers quickly. "No. I like... I mean, it's not a problem."

"Okay," I acknowledge simply. My fingers slide lower, pressing and kneading tenderly against the muscles in his back. I hope you can feel the love in my hands, Ramza, because you're not going to hear it from my lips, not right away. My lips can't lie to you, but they can remain silent, something my hands will never be able to do. They'll always tell you exactly how much I love you.

Something tickles my awareness, making me glance up and back. Meliadoul is standing there, just at the edge of the firelight, staring at me. At us. Her posture is stiff, as though she froze in mid-step.

I meet her gaze without challenge or evasion, a simple acknowledgement. My hands continue their slow massage of Ramza's flesh. I don't think I could say anything even if I wanted to.

I'm not ashamed. This isn't a game, and I love him.

Meliadoul's green eyes narrow slightly. After a moment she melts away into the shadows, reappearing a short distance away, next to Hannibal and Ironside. She does not look at us again.

I put her out of my mind for the moment. Ramza is here, and he's letting me touch him, and he's... halfway to falling asleep, I realize with mild surprise. Either that or he's just extremely relaxed.

My hands finish their work on the small of his back, then slide lovingly up to his shoulders again. Once there, I grip his upper arms and squeeze slowly, then start working my way slowly down towards his elbows.

Ramza doesn't make a sound as I continue my tender ministrations. I wonder if he's afraid of disturbing anything, afraid to touch a single card lest the whole house come tumbling down. I kind of feel that way as well.

Eventually I finish the massage, then slide my hands up and simply let them rest against his shoulders. I don't... I don't know what to do, but I also don't want to stop touching him.

He stirs faintly. "Are you... are you done?" His voice has an odd quality to it, but I know him well enough to recognize it as concealed disappointment.

"I'm done," I confirm softly. "Do you feel any better?"

He twists around to face me. An expression I have never seen before paints his features, something like... like he's just met me and he's trying to figure out who I am. "Yes," he nods. "Thank you."

I smile, then scramble around to sit beside him and stare into the fire. Now that my gambit has played out, I'm uncertain what to do next. I can feel him staring at me and I swallow. What is he thinking? Did I reveal too much?

"Do you... uh, are you sore at all?" he asks awkwardly. On my other side, I'm aware of Strawberry scowling at us, then moving slightly farther away.

I nod faintly. "A little."

I can hear him shifting where he sits. "Do you want a backrub too?"

"I'd like one," I admit honestly. My teeth shiver together and I clamp my jaw together. No! I am calm.

Ramza scrambles to kneel behind me. "I know I'm not as good at this as you are," he mutters as he rests his hands on my shoulders. "Just... let me know if I'm hurting you or anything."

"I will," I vow in a low voice. I know he won't hurt me.

His grip slowly tightens. Before long his thumbs press into the muscles at the base of my neck and begin to move.

I exhale slowly, feeling myself slump freely in his grasp until his hands are actually part of what's keeping me upright. Sparks dance from his touch, but I'm putty in his hands, so far under his control that I don't even tremble because Ramza does not wish it. I can feel my lips parting as he proceeds, but I don't even try to close them. Oh, God. I don't think there's anything he could do to me right now that I would try to stop.

As his hands move to my shoulders, he pauses briefly. "Agrias," he murmurs, "your muscles are... I think you're stronger than I am."

I gather my wits enough to smile lopsidedly at my lap. "You're just flattering me," I accuse. I hope my voice isn't too breathless.

"I'm serious," he insists. He says no more, however, only continues to melt my muscles and my mind. Despite his doubts about his skills in this area, he certainly has them.

I quickly lose track of the time, and after a while it occurs to me that my eyes aren't even open anymore. I'm drowning in a river of pressure and tactile sensuality, oblivious to everything but Ramza's hands. At times he pushes perhaps too hard, but it's merely uncomfortable rather than painful, and I accept it without question as part and parcel of this entire experience. Ramza is not perfect and that's part of why I love him. For all I knew, I did the same to him.

Eventually he stops, but like me, does not bother to remove his hands from my back. After a moment my eyelids flutter open and I blink vaguely at the fire ahead. The rest of the campsite has fallen silent, except for Rafa and Malak conversing quietly over where they've made their beds.

"How was that?" asks Ramza quietly, his tone uncertain. "I know I'm not very practiced."

"Don't worry about that," I advise seriously. "It was..." I pause, swallowing. "I wouldn't argue if you wanted to do it more often."

"Okay," he answers, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "The same goes for you."

I nod silently. He still hasn't moved his hands, I notice; they're resting against the small of my back. If he shifted his fingers a bit, he'd be gripping me around the waist. The layers of cloth keeping his skin from mine seem awfully thin all of a sudden.

Shortly he sighs. "It's... late," he observes.

"It is," I agree. "You should probably start your watch."

"I know," he acknowledges somewhat regretfully. "Sometimes I miss when we used to do them together."

Something starts to glow in my chest, and I smile. "I miss that too," I admit, "but I'm afraid if I joined you tonight, I'd just fall asleep anyway, after that backrub." My God, if his hands can do that to me just on my back, what would... no. Not now.

Ramza chuckles. "I know what you mean." His hands twitch, then slide up to squeeze my shoulders. "Thank you, Agrias."

I lower my head. "Thank _you_."

Finally the warmth of his touch disappears from my body, and I can hear grass shifting about as he stands. His quiet footsteps recede slowly into the night.

Forcing myself to move, I rise laboriously to my feet, then just stand there for a moment. For all the superficial innocence of what just happened, I can still hardly believe it. Drawing a shuddering breath, I step over to where I dropped my things earlier, then quietly unroll my blankets and slip into them.

I think I fall asleep right away. I dream of Ramza and his hands.

Opal wakes me at some point in the middle of the night and I nod, sitting upright in my bedding. As the monk wanders off, I give myself a shake, then rise.

My eyes seek out Ramza where he is sleeping sprawled by the fire. His mouth is open as always; sometimes I'm surprised he doesn't wake up coughing on bugs more often. I smile slightly, then step carefully over the sleeping members of our party towards the north edge of the camp.

As I stand there, gazing off into the moonlit darkness, my mind drifts back to what happened before I went to sleep. I know I didn't dream it, but it still seems unreal. I just wanted to test the waters, to see how he felt, and while I still don't really know, I don't think it possibly could have gone better.

Before long I hear grass whisper behind me, and my heart jumps into my throat. Is that him? I can't...

"Oaks," hisses a feminine voice, "what the hell was that? You told me you weren't interested in him."

I slump, turning to face Meliadoul. She's standing there, arms crossed and glaring at me. "I... was wrong," I admit uncomfortably. "I just figured it out."

"Well, that's bloody great," snaps the Shrine Knight, keeping her voice low enough not to carry back to the rest of the camp. "I don't suppose you saw the looks everyone was giving you? If you'd simply had your tongues down each other's throats, that would have been far less awkward."

"What do you want me to do?" I ask tightly. "Just give up?"

She falls silent for a time, still glaring at me, but after a moment she sighs. Turning, she steps to stand beside me and stares off into the night. "I'm not giving up either," she declares quietly.

"I wouldn't expect you to," I shrug. "At least not until he's made... a decision of some sort."

A cold silence settles between us. I dare a glance towards her, but she's still just staring off at nothing. She's wearing her usual robe, of course, but under the hood she's removed the matching cloth coif, allowing wavy brown hair to hang past her jaw.

"This is just wonderful," mutters Meliadoul eventually. "He's going to feel like a... a toy two children are fighting over. Do you think we might drive him to run away? You... know him better than I do," she adds reluctantly.

"I don't know," I frown. "Last time someone approached him, it was Lavian and he told her he already had someone. Who he meant, I don't know." But I have a suspicion. "He might pull that again, I suppose. Otherwise, I could see him either acting responsibly and telling one of us not to bother, or just retreating from both of us."

I hate this. One of the reasons I went into the knighthood was so that I'd never have to be one of the ladies dancing for some lord's attention, but I know it's not Ramza's fault. Well, in a way it is, since he's so nice, but this is definitely not something he foresaw. Or is even _aware_ of.

"Well," sighs Meliadoul, "there's no dignity in clawing one another's eyes out over this. I propose a treaty."

"A treaty?" I repeat doubtfully. Can I trust her in something like this?

She spares me an impatient glance. "Yes. One day, you'll have access to him in the day, and I will have access to him at night. Then the next day we'll switch, and so on. This was obviously your night, so tomorrow I won't interfere with you in the day."

I eye her narrowly, then gesture to the west, and we begin walking in that direction. I suppose if I agree to such a plan, and she begins to break it, I'll know, because I'll be right there with Ramza. Is there any other way she could weasel through some crack?

On reflection, I think that there is not. The terms are pretty straightforward. But there is one issue. "Won't he notice? I mean, this schedule will be pretty predictable."

"So what if he does?" shrugs the Shrine Knight wearily. "We can tell him. It's not like this agreement would be... underhanded, or immature, really."

I feel a humorless smile twisting my lips. "He'll feel insulted that we didn't just tell him."

Meliadoul snorts. "Well, unless you're willing to do that right now, it's not going to happen, so you may as well worry about it when it does happen."

"Okay," I nod. "But still, he might not go along with this. It's not like he just sits there and waits for one of us to find him. He moves around and talks to whomever he pleases."

"Let him," she answers dismissively. "If that happens, we won't count it as a night in our agreement."

"Fine," I agree tiredly. We reach the western edge of the camp and I stop there, gazing out over the night-cloaked landscape. "We'll do that."

"Good. I'm going to get my sleep, then." Nodding briskly, she strides off towards everyone else.

Once I can no longer hear her footsteps, I sigh heavily, rubbing a gloved hand over my face. I can't belive this. If someone had told me two days ago that I'd be bargaining with Meliadoul to divide up flirting time with Ramza, I'd probably have punched them. It shames me, really, but there's no way around it, not unless I want to get rather underhanded, but that option twists my stomach even more than the possibility of losing Ramza.

I hope you know what I'm going through for this, you dunce. You owe me.

My watch passes without incident, unless my muttering counts as "incident." I wake Rafa and throw myself back into my blankets.

The next day, as we begin to travel, Meliadoul surprises me by walking back with Orlandu. Every now and then snippets of their conversation drift ahead to where I can hear them; it seems they're talking battle, which hardly surprises me.

If Ramza notices anything amiss with the arrangement, he doesn't show it. He glanced back at her in mild confusion as we started travelling, but hasn't done much since. He hasn't said much to me, either.

I decide to change that. "What are you planning to do once we get to Igros?"

His face grows determined. "I'm going to ask Dycedarg what happened. I'm not going to leave until he answers me."

"Well," I note, "he has a Zodiac stone. What if he tries to kill us? Will you fight your brother?"

Ramza turns to gaze at me as though this thought hasn't even occurred to him before. Finally, though, he nods. "If that happens, he's not even my brother anymore."

I smile, and he smiles back. "Good," I nod. "You know, not everyone would be able to do that. It takes strength of will to do such a thing."

He continues to stare at me for a moment, then stares at the ground. I note with surprise and some satisfaction that he's actually blushing. This is new; usually he just brushes off such compliments or smiles at me. Maybe he can see something in my eyes that wasn't there before.

I can try to find out, at least. "What?" I probe, realizing I'm still smiling.

Ramza shrugs uncomfortably, then gives me a quick apologetic glance. "I just asked myself what you would do in my place," he explains.

Oh. Now it's my turn to blush. I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything. Eventually the silence grows past the point where the conversation has ended, so I chew on my lips and wonder what to do next. I don't really have many options, I suppose, apart from more conversation, but it's hard to talk and travel hard at the same time, and if I try it he might get suspicious.

I sigh. No one told me this was going to be such a pain.

Eventually, lacking anything to say that won't sound forced, I settle for leaning over to bump my shoulder into his. The impact knocks him slightly off-balance, but he catches himself quickly, then does the same back to me. I smile at the ground.

I don't try any more with him while we travel. I have no wish to browbeat him into liking me.

We pass peacefully through Araguay Woods and emerge on the other side just before nightfall. Over the plains, the western sky shifts from orange to a starry violet, and the slim crescent moon is hovering its own height above the far grasses.

The party eats quickly, then trains in the little light remaining. I match blades against Hannibal and earn several bruises on top of yesterday's bruises. Meliadoul, I note, tries to pair up with Ramza but ends up battling Ironside instead.

When I'm done, I wander back towards the fire and drop down to sit next to Rafa. She smiles in greeting, then eyes the nearby Mustadio before speaking discreetly. "Waiting for him to finish?"

I grimace. "Not tonight."

"Why?" Concern furrows her brow. "What happened?"

Hesitating, I glance at Mustadio out of the corners of my eyes, but the mechanic doesn't seem to be paying any attention to us at all. "It's not my... turn," I explain uncomfortably.

"It's not..." Rafa trails off in wide-eyed startlement. "Tell me you didn't."

"I did," I sigh. "She and I."

"Oh, for God's sake," mutters Rafa. Standing, she holds a hand down to me and helps me to my feet. Together, we wander off a short distance from the fire.

Perhaps some twenty paces out, she releases my hand and turns to face me, arms crossed over her chest. "So you're _taking turns_ being near him? Is that it?"

I shrug irritably. "What did you want us to do? Cling to him every waking moment? It was her idea." I realize I'm actually starting to sound a little petulant and clamp my jaw shut angrily.

Rafa shakes her head at the sky. "I suppose it makes sense," she admits after a moment, sounding unconvinced. "You were up with him all day, while she walked in the middle. I assume just switch off every nightfall?"

I blink, then realize this is another way to phrase our agreement. "Basically."

Dark eyes shift away from my face to study something moving behind me. "Well, there they go now, to the fire."

I squeeze my eyes shut. "Don't even tell me," I groan quietly. "I don't want to know."

Her attention shifts back to me and she smiles. "Well, you can't just stand out here all night. You'll have to see them eventually."

"I know," I sigh. My God, I feel like a damn kid.

"Oh, they're just sitting there. Come on," urges Rafa, gripping my hand again and turning me about. I let her lead me back to the campfire, where we sit a good distance from Meliadoul and Ramza. My heart pounds like a drum the entire time, and with each dragging step I can feel the dread grow heavier in my stomach.

Shortly Rafa grips my shoulders and gently directs me to sit, perhaps fearing I'll run if not restrained. I grit my teeth and let her, and in a moment she seats herself beside me.

Mustadio spares me a frowning glance. "Are you alright, Agrias? You look a bit off."

I direct an apologetic smile at him. "I do feel a little ill," I explain, truthfully.

The mechanic inclines his head. "Well, I hope you feel better."

"Me too," I chuckle humorlessly. "Thank you."

Against their will, my eyes are drawn around the circle to where the two of them are sitting together, sitting _too close_ together. The Shrine Knight has her hood back and coif gone, I note, leaving her hair loose and fluttering in the breeze. With her sharp features and sparkling grin, Ramza probably finds her pretty. I hate that.

Grimacing, I turn away and stare at the flickering orange flames in front of me, and henceforth try to ignore the two. From time to time, though, I catch my gaze sliding over there and immediately correct it again. Eventually Meliadoul seats herself leaning back against Ramza's side, then busies herself doing something with... with the grass nearby, I think. I quickly realize she's plucking wildflowers from the greenery and weaving them into a crown of sorts, which she eventually passes over to him with a laugh.

My heart clenches at the expression of surprise and pleasure painting his face, and once again I return my attention to the fire. Soon, however, I can see him trying to do the same thing for her, sometimes leaning heavily sideways to reach a few errant blooms. His fingers must not be as skilled as hers, though, for whatever he makes crumbles back to its component parts as soon as it reaches her hands. Meliadoul smiles anyway, though, and I think she tucks the flowers fondly into her robe somewhere, trying to keep the motion hidden from him.

I drop my face to my hands. I want to hate her, but I can't. I know she's not a malevolent or evil person, and she genuinely seems to care for Ramza.

I have no idea what conversation swirled around me while I sat like that. Hopefully most people attributed my mood to an oncoming illness of some sort. I could feel Ramza's eyes in specific on me a couple of times, but I couldn't make myself look up to meet them for fear of what I might see there, or not see.

In a way, when the fire turns to smoldering and the party turns in for bed, sleep comes as a relief. A prolonged period of unconsciousness will take this misery away for a time.

Morning comes all too soon, and with it, travelling. At least she can't occupy too much of his attention while we're marching.

We reach Dorter by midmorning and pass right through. Even the bustling trade city and its cheery inhabitants can't brighten my mood much. The only thought that does is the thought of being next to him tonight.

This is silly. I'm a Holy Knight, one who's helping to collect the Zodiac stones from the demons that are trying to use them for... whatever. I should not be eyeing every likely campsite we pass just because choosing one would bring the hour closer when I can sit at his side, alone. My heart should not leap at the thought of simply touching him again.

When we finally stop for the day, I can barely eat and train fast enough. I'd like to spar against Ramza, but he's still chatting with Alicia and Hannibal when I finish, so I face off against Malak instead. The Hell Knight, as he styles himself, is a devious, calculating opponent who fights with a permanent scowl. Really, though, it's not only fighting; he's just like that. He fights with a long rod, almost like a staff, that has even greater reach than my bokken. He can whip it around so fast it blurs, too; one swipe in particular strikes my leg with a resounding crack, and for a moment I fear the bone is broken, but shortly I'm able to walk on it. Well, limp on it. At least he has the grace to look sorry about that, though he doesn't say anything.

We don't train much after that, so I hobble back to the fire that Strawberry has started and simpy let myself fall to my backside in front of it. Lavian is there as well, the two spellcasters chatting about something non-magical for once, though I can't tell what it is. Some kind of soup, I think. Whatever.

The heat of the fire doesn't help much, given that I'm already sweating from training, but I know the night's chill will soon catch up with me. In silence and solitude I sit. I can see Rafa on the other side of the two mages; she gives me a grin and a subtle wink without moving closer. She knows.

Eventually Ramza drops to the ground a short distance away, sighing at nothing. Tugging absently at his bracers, he removes the things and then just lets them drop in front of him as though Meliadoul and myself are the farthest thing from his mind right now. Likely we are.

I ache to go over there and be with him, but I force myself to stare pensively into the fire. I can't pressure him, can't let him know how eager I am to join his company, because I know it would make him uncomfortable.

Time passes, perhaps a quarter-hour, without anyone approaching him, so I frown at him for a moment as though just noticing his condition. Then I scramble over to sit beside him and poke his elbow. "Is something wrong?"

Ramza blinks and his face relaxes into a slight smile, an expression I could stare at happily until I went to sleep. "Oh, it's nothing," he answers, lifting his hands and then letting them fall to his lap again. "I just kept making mistakes when I was fighting Alicia just now. I'm kind of frustrated."

"I'm sorry," I answer, laying a hand on his arm briefly. I can't keep a punchy smile from my face, though. "Maybe she's just too good for you."

He barks a laugh and settles back, hands against the ground behind him. "Probably is," he mutters. "Like I said, it's nothing."

My smile remains as I watch crackling sparks float skyward from the fire before fading. I feel like I should be doing something, saying something, trying to make the most of my time with him, but instead I'm content just to be here.

After a time he nods a question at me. "Where were you last night? Usually it seems like we spend some time together, and so I was going to offer you another backrub, but you never showed up."

Oh. "Well, I saw you chatting with Meliadoul," I explain, "and I didn't want to barge in and interrupt."

Ramza waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, don't worry. I wouldn't have minded, and I'm sure she wouldn't have either."

Oh, Ramza, you poor sod. I love you. "Then I'm sorry," I offer primly, bowing my head slightly in his direction to show that I'm not taking it too seriously. "You could offer it now instead, if you'd like."

"Yeah," he murmurs, seemingly embarassed. "True. Do you want one?"

I smile to myself. Quickly I glance up and around, but none of the other party members are near; I don't know if they're giving us space out of politeness or disgust, but there it is. "I'd like one," I reply.

"Okay," he acknowledges brightly, scooting over to kneel behind me. Immediately his hands are twin warm spots sliding up the curve of my back to my shoulders.

When he starts to massage me, once more I slump formlessly in his grasp. Eyes hooded, lips parted, I simply stare at the ground, a malleable metal in the hands of a master smith. The heat from his touch seems to seep into me and flow about, settling somewhere in my middle; it's a sensation I've not really felt before, but it's a strong one. My skin tingles and my breath becomes shallow; I can even feel my rapid pulse in the roof of my mouth.

As his hands slide to the small of my back, my fingers touch soft linen, and I realize I've reached back to touch his leg near the knee. Not an intimate touch by any means, or even a sensual one, just a familiar gesture that conveys how comfortable I am. Whether he notices or not, I can't tell, but his hands don't stop.

Eventually he works his way back up my spine towards my shoulders and arms. I can't stop the occasional faint sigh that escapes through my lips, and in fact I don't even try. I'm too busy sagging in his grasp, silently begging him not to stop.

At some point he does stop, though. I have no idea how much time elapsed, but my back is a warm mass of peace and glowing affection. If I can produce even half that kind of effect on him, I'll be thrilled.

"There," he murmurs, squeezing my upper arms for emphasis. "Is that good enough?"

My eyelids slowly flutter open, and an idea springs up in my head. "Actually," I murmur, "if it's not too much trouble, there's one more place I'd like you to get."

I can almost see him swallowing nervously. "There... there is?"

Smiling, I extend my right leg and lean forward, unbuckling the armored plates protecting it. They don't completely cover my leg, so Malak's strike hit flesh instead of metal, but they'll be in the way of Ramza's skilled fingers. "I took a hit here earlier," I explain, pointing to the smarting region of my leg, on the outer side of the leg's lower half. "I thought you might be able to help reduce the pain."

When he doesn't say anything, I risk a glance back. Ramza is staring at my leg, though his gaze shifts instantly to my face. "If that will help," he agrees faintly, "I'll do it."

Nodding, I twist about to bring my leg to him, rather than make him move. He hesitates, glancing uncertainly at me, but I just nod again, and after a moment he rests his hands on my shin and closes his eyes.

Rather than rubbing and kneading, now he works with the palms of his hands, simply putting them in one place and letting his warmth flow into me for a time before moving slightly. I recognize what he is doing as a mild chakra, and wonder belatedly why I didn't think of doing that myself, but I'll admit it worked out better this way.

From time to time his hands tremble slightly, and I blush when that happens, wondering if I'm being too forward. Even though he's set broken bones of mine before, somehow this is different. There's no utilitarian purpose behind this at all... well, there is the rationale I gave him, but largely I just want him to touch my body. In the appropriate places, of course; I left the plates on above my knees, telling him to stop there.

After some consideration, I dismiss my worries. If this weren't okay with Ramza, he wouldn't have done it. That leads me down a new line of thought, though: what more could I ask of him before he said no? I shiver faintly at that, trying to recall a single time when he's refused me anything, but I can't think of one.

I shake my head to clear it. One step at a time.

Some time later, he releases my leg and sits back. The pain is gone completely, I note with pleasure. "Better?" he asks nervously, eyeing me.

I nod earnestly, then pull my leg back to my chest. "I'm sorry, Ramza," I admit quietly. "Maybe I shouldn't have asked you to do that. You seem uneasy."

"It's just unusual," he answers. "That's all. Not bad, just different."

I smile, and he grins back at me. "Good. Do you want anything from me?" I meet his gaze curiously and don't look away; he can read as much into my words as he wants to.

"A backrub would be nice," he muses after a moment. I nod, and we shift about until I am kneeling behind him.

Like me, he deflates as soon as I grip his shoulders. I take my time, sliding my hands up and down his back, sometimes almost caressing him, but I keep my touch gentle because that's what I feel for him. Once again I use my hands to speak the words I can't yet summon to my lips. I hope you understand, Ramza. I think you do.

"Hmm," he mumbles sleepily at one point. "You know what's weird?"

"What?" I ask obligingly. My hands continue their loving work.

"I've... been getting these weird feelings when Meliadoul is around," he murmurs. "I think she might like me."

I pause briefly -- how dare you think of _her _when I'm here? -- but I cover the hesitation quickly; the information I can get out of this is worth the pain it might cause me. "Why is that?"

"Well..." He sighs, swaying slightly under my ministration. "She's always talking to me, always trying to touch me, trying to get me to touch her."

My eyebrows climb at this. What have they been doing that I haven't seen? I blink for a moment, then decide to muddy the waters with honesty. "We touch each other too, though. Is it different from this?"

"Oh, it is," he insists firmly in a low voice. "Sometimes, when she reaches across me to... get something, or whatever, she does it so that she... so that her..." He trails off uncomfortably, but I get the idea. "Likewise, if I have my hand or arm near her, she tries to move so that I... brush up against... I don't know. You know what I mean. She doesn't do that to anyone else."

I nod slowly, mutely. My heart is a raging drum in my ribs, beating so fiercely I'm willing to bet he can feel it through my fingertips. I keep my touch gentle, though; this is her fault, not his. After a moment I open my mouth to ask a question, but no sound comes out, because I know the answer might shatter me. I swallow, trying to work some moisture into my mouth, and try again. "And do you like that?" I keep my voice as casual as I can make it sound.

"Honestly..." He sighs. "Can I tell you something?"

"You know you can tell me anything," I remind him. Whatever happens with Meliadoul, that will always be true.

"That's true," he murmurs. "The truth is, she... scares me, a little."

I find myself blinking again. "Why?"

"I don't know," he mutters again. "She's a little... aggressive. Like she doesn't always worry about what I might think. Sometimes she reminds me of a hunter, and I'm her prey."

That might not be far wrong, I reflect silently. "But this is okay, right?" I ask, squeezing his shoulders for clarification.

"Oh! Yes." He chuckles at the silliness of being threatened by me. "This is warm and comfortable and l... gentle. I always know I can trust you, so..." He falls silent, perhaps fearing he's said too much, not knowing I could hear him go on like that all night.

"That's all I need to hear," I decide softly, smiling at the back of his head. I know he's not mine yet, but his words give me reason to hope.

Ramza doesn't say anything, and after a while I frown, wondering if I gave too much away there. He might be figuring out. Well, let him. It's not like I can, or would, keep this from him forever.

I don't say anymore either, and eventually decide that I've kept him from watch duty long enough. Reluctantly I sit back on my heels behind him, letting my hands fall to my thighs. "It's late again," I note.

He chuckles. "It is."

Together we climb to our feet, stretching. I eye him sideways, trying to think of something to say, but before I can, he turns to face me. Perplexed thought has his brows furrowed, and I breathe a little easier at that; he hasn't got it all figured out, but he might have started to suspect.

"Thank you, Agrias," he says softly, meeting my gaze fully. "I enjoy that."

"So do I," I answer, reaching to pinch his cheek playfully. Without another word, I step to my blankets and slip into them. I don't think I stop smiling until after I've gone to sleep.

The next day brings an overcast shell of clouds and a brisk wind, but it doesn't rain. We travel with heads down against blowing dust, cloaks wrapped about our bodies despite the best efforts of the wind. I have little chance to speak with Ramza but just walking next to him is enough.

Goblins attack us in Sweegy Woods, and we make short work of them. We travel until we're just a few hours short of Gariland, then make camp in a flowering meadow. After the food and training, Meliadoul takes her chance to snuggle up to Ramza next to the fire. I sit a third of the way around the circle from them, far enough so I don't have to hear them but not opposite so I'd have to stare at them.

I do watch them occasionally, and for some reason it doesn't bother me as much tonight as last time I was in this situation. Maybe it's hearing what Ramza told me last night, or maybe some of him has seeped through my skin and settled into my bones, but I feel more confident. Or, rather less worried; I may end up making him mine, or I might not, and if not, I'll probably survive.

When we hit the road the next day, Meliadoul is at his side again and barely leaves it. He doesn't seem uncomfortable, despite his words to me earlier, and vaguely I begin to wonder if maybe he's just telling me what I want to hear. It wouldn't be like him, though, so I decide he's just holding his composure and enjoying her company as he can.

We pass through Gariland and stop just long enough to buy some extra food, some nuts and dried fruit to accompany the dried meat we have. Then we're off again, heading towards Mandalia but not reaching it.

That night, to shake things up, I don't offer to give Ramza a backrub, and for whatever reason, he doesn't offer one to me. Instead, we sit together with the rest of the party, laughing and chatting, participating in the usual banter. It's important that neither he nor the rest of the party think I'm trying to steal him away from them, and I want to show that, if we were a couple, we'd be a responsible one, not shunning our friends just to be together.

All that aside, I still sit as close to him as I can, with our thighs touching and us accidentally elbowing each other occasionally. He doesn't move away, though. I also make certain to arrange my blankets to be next to his.

The next day, we cross the empty Mandalia Plains, or Beast Plains as Orlandu calls it, but despite its nickname we are not attacked as we make passage across its limestone-studded face. It's Meliadoul's turn with Ramza tonight, so I sit back and watch as they sit a short distance away from the fire and tickle each other. Well, Meliadoul seems to do more of the tickling; Ramza just fends her off as best he can, giggling.

Eventually her face grows serious and she stands, offering a hand down to him. He accepts it, rising as well, and together they wander off into the tall and shadowed grass.

I watch them leave, keeping my face neutral. I'm not going to worry about it. I trust him. Also, I know that if she tries anything, it'll probably just frighten him more.

They haven't returned by the time I hit my blankets, but when Opal wakes me for my watch, they're both asleep. On different sides of the camp. I smile, though for all I know it means absolutely nothing.

The next day, of course, brings us to Igros, the city where Ramza grew up. The Castle itself is huge, falling just a hair short of matching Lesalia Palace in height, though, being built for war, Igros Castle is far more imposing than the lavish imperial palace. It's strange to think that a place projecting such power could have been home to the mild young Ramza Beoulve.

He leads us to an out-of-the-way gate, one I assume his family uses, only to find it empty of guards. In their place is a lone chocobo, which Ramza identifies nervously as belonging to Zalbag. He hesitates briefly, then strolls in through the open gate. We follow.

The interior of Igros Castle is similarly empty, though very faint echoes reach us, the shouting of fighting men. Ramza's face assumes a grim cast, and we race towards it, bolting past the occasional startled servant or page.

Eventually we find ourselves in an open space, a domed chamber that strikes me as a glorified stairwell, with hallways leading off in different directions on different floors. Two nobles I assume to be Zalbag and Dycedarg are facing each other on the floor above us, I note uneasily, and the younger one -- Zalbag, I assume -- has his blade out. Hokuten knights surround both men.

He notices our entrance right away, and gives a visible start. "Brother!"

"Zalbag!" answers Ramza. His knuckles are white on his blade hilts as he stares from one brother to the other.

"Ramza, you were right!" calls Zalbag. "Our brother's started a war and killed Larg to satisfy his own ambition! This is disgraceful and cannot be forgiven!" His voice is hoarse with anger and betrayal.

"Zalbag!" repeats Ramza. Apparently having decided whom to help, he bolts under an arch for the stairs.

I follow his lead, unleashing a Lightning Stab to strike Dycedarg from a floor away. A moment later, one of Meliadoul's crippling attack flashes through the noble's body, and I can hear shards of metal clatter to the ground afterwards. Zalbag and Dycedarg trade blows for a time, but as I'm running under the arch after Ramza, a gasp catches my ears.

"If only you hadn't interfered," rasps the oldest Beoulve bitterly, "Ivalice would have been ours. The Beoulve's. You fools!"

I turn just in time to see him collapse into a bloody pile. The Hokuten knights surrounding Zalbag turn to regard their fallen leader in horror.

Before I have time to relax, however, a chromatic sparkle arcs around the man and I curse. I know what that means. The now-familiar display of raw power and fury swirls blindingly, collapsing and then exploding outwards.

Where Dycedarg's body once lay now stands a demonic shape I vaguely recognize as Adramelk. It laughs contemptuously. "So that's it. Now I know." The thing pauses to laugh again. "Young fool, here's a souvenir for you on the way to Hell. I killed Balbanes. Yes, I did it! The Beoulves finally had their chance to rule, but he blew it! That idiot! So I killed him. Even a swordmaster can't fight poison!"

I watch helplessly as Adramelk focuses his rage against Zalbag, apparently destroying him where he stands, or perhaps bringing him to some other space. The Hokuten knights present observe this and flee, some shouting, in every direction.

Amateurs. I know how to handle this.

"Now it's your turn!" bellows Adramelk; the walls rattle, echoing his fury. "You'll regret opposing me!"

Our party continues to advance on the hellish thing; I fire off another Lightning Stab for good measure as we make our way around and up the stairs. Adramelk doesn't just stand around waiting, however; it gestures with one clawed fist and Ramza is instantly turned into a granite statue, grinding loudly to a quick halt on the stairs.

I don't pause to grieve, however, instead bolting up the stairs as fast as my armored legs will carry me. Searing white magic tears up from the ground and through Adramelk's body, but the thing barely even twitches. I impale it with ethereal light in a Holy Explosion, but again it just keeps moving, swatting Ironside aside like a fly.

Strawberry incants another spell to shred the best while I sidestep and blast my power through it once more. Finally the thing howls and shakes.

"Shit!" rumbles Adramelk. "It's still not right. If only 'Bloody Angel' were here, this wouldn't have happened!" The demon's next scream is terminated by a thunderous explosion that leaves only the glittering Zodiac stone in its place.

Well, crap. Ramza wanted to know why Vormav gave that thing away. Now only Vormav himself can answer our question, and I doubt he'll be willing.

Meliadoul hops up to the stone and retrieves it, dusting it off on her robes with a grimace. I sigh, turning to frown at the statue of Ramza. "Strawberry!" I call; the spellcaster hurries over and begins chanting.

When she finshes, Ramza is thawed back into himself and stumbles briefly. His eyes seek out Adramelk and find only Meliadoul and the stone. Then he slumps. "This is the end of the Beoulves," he murmurs. "Names don't matter. What's important is how you live your life. Alma... I must save Alma!"

I nod along as he speaks, then frown at the end. "We don't know where she is, Ramza."

"Murond," says Meliadoul. All eyes turn to her, and she shrugs. "They're afraid of you by now, and Murond is the safest place to keep her, in their opinion. She'll be there."

Ramza gazes at her without expression, then nods once. "Murond, then. Let's go." And before I can say another word he's already striding back the way we came.

I hurry to catch up to him, then walk rapidly at his side. "What about the Castle?" I wonder. "Your... your brothers are..."

He turns to give me a grim look. "There are captains who can run it in Dycedarg's absence," is all he says.

Though we encounter a few guards on our way out of the castle, they must not have orders to stop us, because they spare us odd, almost frightened looks as they let us pass. We exit the castle and emerge into the afternoon sunlight.

Ramza doesn't stop, instead striding through the surrounding city and then through the south gates. Murond is only a few days from here, and I'm sure we would be running now if he thought it would shorten the trip any more.

He doesn't speak again until we stop for the night on Mandalia Plains, and I don't try to disturb him. No one else does, either; the party's mood is tense, subdued, as Lavian rummages quietly around for kindling to make a fire.

Sparse conversation arises here and there as the group unloads packs and the like. Ramza just stands in one place, scowling murderously at nothing. His backpack leans against his legs, where he has carelessly dropped it.

Lips compressed, I approach him carefully. It's technically my night to be with him, but I don't care; I'd be here anyway. He's my friend. "Ramza?"

His eyes snap to meet my own with any change in his expression. For a moment he just stares at me, but soon his gaze darts past me, examining the state of the rest of the party. Finally he turns around, jerking his head coldly for me to follow.

This is the first time he's issued me such a curt command, I realize. I follow.

He leads us to one of the many chunks of limestone protruding from the grassy earth, then sits on it. I claim the space beside him without being asked and then wait.

"Zalbag," he says flatly eventually, staring at his lap. "Is Zalbag dead?"

I swallow. It's not like Ramza to show so little emotion. Something must be tearing him up; there are certainly any number of things that could be doing so now, I suppose. "I believe so," I answer.

He nods. "I thought so. I'll... miss him."

"What about Dycedarg?" I ask carefully.

Hazel eyes dart to mine once more and there is anger there, cold anger. "He killed Father." Ramza, poor Ramza who can shrug off a couple of attempts by his brothers to kill him, has finally found something he can't forgive.

My eyes start to blur so I lower them. If I ever cause him that kind of pain, I will die.

"But Zalbag," he continues crisply, "Zalbag... was too trusting. He believed everything Dycedarg told him, all the lies. When he finally figured out what was going on, Dycedarg killed him. There... there isn't even a body." His voice cracks.

I sniffle, reaching out to circle arms around his neck, pulling him gently to me. He lets me do so; his head thumps into my shoulder.

He begins to weep, making no noise; he doesn't even move at all except for the sudden shaking in his limbs. Tears leak from his closed eyes and he breathes raggedly, shuddering in my arms. An occasional soft whimper escapes his lips, quickly stifled.

I lower my head to his, resting my cheek against his unruly hair. My arms tighten around him for a long time, almost crushing him into me, but then I loosen my grip somewhat. Lifting a hand, I begin to catch his tears on my knuckles, tenderly drying his cheeks while he's still wetting them. My other hand strokes his back, his hair, roaming with every ounce of love and comfort I possess.

Eventually it is enough, or he simply expends his grief. His tears subside, as does the shaking, though I keep an arm around him and he doesn't move his head from my shoulder. "Thank you, Agrias," he whispers.

I smile, feeling the muscles in my cheek pushing against his skull. "I'm glad to help."

He slowly pushes himself from me, scrubbing a hand across his face before dropping it back in his lap. I watch him carefully, reading for any alarming signs in his expression, but he simply gazes at his hands.

After a moment his face darkens. "Agrias... last night Meliadoul told me she thinks she's falling in love with me."

My heart pounds in fear, but for some reason I follow his gaze. Then I blink. He's staring at his hands... no, _our _hands, since I'm holding one of his in both of mine. I don't even remember doing that; it must have felt so natural I didn't even think about it.

I snatch my hands back from his, aware of my cheeks heating. "Ramza, I'm..."

"Agrias, tell me what's happening." His voice is low, calm now, but also lifeless. He's still not looking at me.

I take a deep breath, then let it go. This is it. "She's probably right," I admit. "She and I have talked about it and I'm not surprised she told you." I pause, trying to think of how to continue.

"And?" he prompts. "There's more."

I nod unwillingly. "There's... a complicating factor."

He shakes once, a silent chuckle. "And that is what?"

I open my mouth, but again can't think of how to describe it without sounding either trite or gaggingly sweet. Instead, I lean slightly in his direction. When he doesn't move, I dart in and kiss him quickly on the cheek, then sit bolt upright again, sitting beside him, facing off into the Plains. That's the best I can explain it to him.

God, my cheeks are on fire. I roll my lips between my teeth; I can still feel his skin on them. He didn't shave today, or probably yesterday, but his stubble isn't unpleasantly scratchy. I can barely even see it on his face anyway, usually. Odd that I didn't notice it with my fingers.

He doesn't say anything, but I can feel that he's looking at me. My God, I probably went and messed it all up. My face just gets warmer and warmer from the shame. He's probably going to...

Something touches me, and I jump; it's his hand. He's reached to grab one of mine from where I tucked them between my knees in mortifiation.

I smile.


	10. Chapter 10: Roses For No One

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy Tactics or any of the characters therein. I am using them without permission and will cease to do so if asked. Please don't sue.

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Chapter Ten: Roses For No One 

Time passes. I don't know how much, because I'm ignoring almost everything but the feeling of Ramza's hand in mine. Eventually a thin layer of sweat develops between our skin, and I wonder vaguely if it's him being nervous or me. Maybe both. I haven't looked at him yet to see what's on his face, either, because I'm waiting for him to say something, waiting to see if I'm to be accepted or rejected. For all I know, he only took my hand to soften the blow of the old "Agrias, you're a beautiful woman, but..."

He's not saying anything, though. I lower my head and stare at the rocky ground below where my feet are dangling from this rock. His muscles are tense, too; though I'm gently caressing his skin with my thumb, he's not moving at all.

Despite my worries, I'm still smiling. I can't stop.

"So," he says eventually, his voice low, with little inflection. "You said you talked to Meliadoul about this. Is that why I've been seeing you only every other night over the last week or so, like clockwork? Did you have this... arranged?" There is no accusation in his voice, almost no _anything_.

"Yes," I admit simply at my lap. I'm not going to lie to him.

"Why? You were... managing me... without my consent, or even my knowledge."

"That's true. You want an explanation?" I pause, thinking, hearing cloth rustle beside me as he nods. "Fine. I'll get there, but first I want to clear some things up so I don't make a fool of myself."

He sighs. "Okay, go ahead."

"Okay," I echo. "First... what does this mean?" I ask, lifting our clasped hands a short distance above the rock. "Are we now... _us?_" I shift about on the rock, twisting to face him.

Ramza stares at me without expression, his eyes weary. Finally he sighs again. "I don't know, Agrias. I think so."

Well, that's better than nothing. "Okay, then, did you just start liking me these last few days? Or did you want this before?"

His lips curve faintly in bitter amusement, or perhaps simply scorn. "Before."

I thought so. "When did you realize that you wanted us to be together?"

"A long time ago," he answers quietly. "About... when I met you."

I pause at that, perhaps blushing again, but I'll ask him about it later. "And yet you didn't say anything to me. Why was that?"

His face darkens in anger. "This isn't..."

I cut him off with my free hand. "I'm sorry; let me explain. I'm not trying to turn this back on you. I just want to know your reasons. I'm not going to... judge you, or anything."

He nods slowly. "I didn't know if you felt the same way," he replies. "Then, when I was fairly sure you did, it seemed like a... sensitive subject for you, so I didn't want to bring it up."

"You thought you'd scare me off," I conclude.

"Yes. Is that what you're saying you thought about me, too?"

I smile slightly. "In a way. I thought you returned my feelings, or had, once, but Meliadoul was here and so I didn't have the time to wait and see. If the same thing had happened to you... if, say, Hannibal was trying to court me earlier, what would you have done? Just told me what you felt?"

Ramza's face slowly assumes a thoughtful frown, but shortly he chuckles. "Probably only if I thought I was losing," he admits, squeezing my hand once. I can feel my smile widen, but he simply shakes his head. "God, Agrias. I waited so long. Months, with you right before my eyes the whole time. I'd given up hope."

There's not much I can say to that, so I don't even try. Instead I just continue to stroke his hand and stare at him, letting him see whatever jumbled but loving mess is visible through my eyes.

"Oh," he groans, but he's grinning. "Don't look at me like that."

I hadn't intended to give him a puppy-dog stare, but I find myself sharing his grin. "Are you still angry at me?"

"I... don't think so," he decides. "It's hard to stay mad at you."

I smile a little more widely, and on a whim I lift his hand and rub its back against my cheek. After a moment, though, my smile fades. "What about Zalbag? Are you going to...?"

He starts shaking his head even before I finish my sentence. "I'll get over it, yes, but I'm not there yet. Talking to you helped, though. Thank you for..." He trails off uncomfortably, not meeting my eyes.

"There's no need to thank me," I chide gently. "I'm here. I'm yours." As the words leave my lips I can feel my eyes widen; was that too much to say?

Ramza doesn't seem to think so, because he reaches forward to engulf me in a tight hug. I return the gesture, relieved.

After a moment, he releases me. I lower my gaze to my lap and begin to fidget with the cuffs of my coat; it's all I can do not to stare at him and grin, and I suspect something like that would just unnerve him. "We should probably get back," I suggest quietly, "and help with the camp."

"Yeah," he answers. "Are we going to tell them about... about us?"

I eye him for a moment, then shrug, smiling. "They'll figure it out."

He snickers. I slide from the rock, waiting for him to do likewise, and together we stroll back through the tall grass and wildflowers towards where everyone else is still unpacking and stretching.

Just as Ramza parts ways with me to tend to his own belongings, I spot Meliadoul glancing up in surprise; green eyes dart between the two of us in measuring calculation. I don't think she'd even noticed that we'd gone off together. Eventually her gaze settles on me and she frowns slightly.

I'm going to have to talk to her, I realize. Otherwise, she'll spend tomorrow evening trying to work her charms on Ramza again, and I can't have that. Or, alternately, I could just _show_ her. And everyone.

I blush just thinking about it, and break my staring contest with the Shrine Knight. What the hell happened to me? A year ago, I never would have... well, I _know_ what happened to me, and he's still standing over there trying to get out of his dustcloak. I'm still a long way from being used to this.

As I think, my eyes slip back over to Ramza and I start grinning again. He's mine. I can actually say that about someone, now: he's my man. We do things.

Sighing at my own idiocy, I wander over to my things and start unbuckling all the weapons from my body, followed by the lightweight armor we stole from Elmdor; after an actual battle today, there will likely be no training. Which is nice, really, since it gives me more time to converse with the rest of the party, inasmuch as I ever do.

Soon Orlandu begins to toss together scrounged wood for a fire. I still can't believe Thunder God Cid is happily willing to go about ordinary camp duties. Perhaps feeling the same way, Ramza once tried to exempt the man, but Orlandu insisted, and who's going to argue against him? If he wants to make fires and carry wood around, I'll let him.

Ironside happens to be doling out the food, so I quickly make my way over to him. Hannibal gets there before me, though, and the ninja parcels out his share.

"Oh, rations," murmurs Hannibal, apparently delightedly surprised. "Lovely." Ironside grunts.

Soon the lancer steps out of my way and I claim what I need before heading over to the as-yet-unburning fire. I seat myself a short distance away from Orlandu as he stacks his kindling into a neat pyramid.

"It's a science," he explains absently, without even looking at me, "but an inspired science, one that requires soul as well as intellect." He pauses, adjusting one stick carefully. "The textbook approach is a solid one, but never the best one, for it doesn't take into account the environment. Is it raining? Windy? What materials and resources are at your disposal? The prepared mind just needs to strike one spark, and then everything will burn exactly as it needs to, in the right order, for as long as you want." He glances at me once, then cracks flint and steel together near the leaves and dry reeds under his kindling. It catches, and under his gentle breath grows into a flickering candle-like flame.

I smile. "Are we talking about fire-making or strategy?"

Orlandu gives a deep chuckle. "Is there a difference? Everything is strategy." He meets my gaze for a moment, then spares a significant glance towards Ramza before watching the growing fire.

Ah. "I think my strategy there is doing well enough," I explain, trying to keep the grin off my face.

The old general smiles at his growing fire. "I see. Carry on, then."

I chuckle quietly, tearing off a bite of dried venison. After a moment, Rafa appears with Malak and seats herself beside me with a handful of nuts and dried fruit; she never eats as much as the others here.

Quickly she turns to me in concern. "How is Ramza? Is he taking everything well?"

"He's grieving over Zalbag," I explain quietly. "But that's it."

"Not Dycedarg, then," she muses, nodding thoughtfully. "I can see that. I suppose I could talk to him, too." Rafa pauses, lips pursing as she gazes at the fire, but shortly she returns her attention to me with a smile. "Any news on the other front?"

"There is some," I answer simply. Out of the corner of my eyes, I can see Orlandu; it seems as though he's just staring through the fire, but I'll wager he's listening. "You'll see later, probably."

"Oh?" She quirks an eyebrow. "Is it what I think?"

I shrug. "You'll just have to wait and see," I answer mischievously. "If nothing happens, I'll just tell you."

Her eyes turn pensively inward. "I bet I know what it is," she decides. Malak glances at us both in ill-concealed disdain.

A short time later, Ramza and Mustadio appear at the fire. Though the mechanic simply drops to his backside where he stands, Ramza glances over at me, hesitating, and I want to curse myself; there's not enough room for another person between myself and Orlandu, and Rafa's leg is actually touching mine where she sits. Eventually Ramza simply shrugs slightly and seats himself next to Mustadio.

Over time, the rest of the party joins us around the fire. The mood is still subdued after the day's events, and while I'm sure everyone can see that Ramza no longer looks ready to do murder, I doubt anyone but me really knows why that is or how long it might last.

Meliadoul, I note, seats herself next to Ramza due to the sparing amount of room near the fire, and I feel myself bristle at that. However, I shortly notice that she pays little attention to him except when he speaks directly to her, in which case she reacts as anyone else might. She even meets my eyes once, as if to impress upon me how well she's keeping up her end of the bargain.

I nod faintly to her through the dancing flames. I'm mildly impressed at how honorable she's being with this.

In any case, sitting around a fire with a dozen or so other people is a little odd when there's so little to be said, so eventually the different party members wander off to seek private conversations or their own blankets. Ramza eventually stands and strolls into the star shadows around the camp, likely to start his watch.

I stare after him, then stand. A weird fluttering fills my stomach and chest, which confuses me; aren't we more or less an established pair already? What do I have to be nervous about?

Something nudges my calf. I glance down to see Rafa giving me a conspiratorial grin. Without a word she nods significantly towards Ramza, and one of her eyebrows lifts in slight question.

I nod once. "Watch." Fighting to keep my face straight, I step in his direction. Slowly I advance, making my way as stealthily as I can.

I doubt I've surprised him -- his senses are surprisingly acute -- but he doesn't turn around as I approach. Smiling to myself, I slip arms around his shoulders and hug him from behind, resting my head against the back of his neck.

"That better be Agrias," he mutters, and I laugh softly. His arms, pinned somewhat to his sides by mine, reach back to return the hug as well as he can manage, though all he can do is press the small of my back against him. I don't mind, though; I like having his hands there.

After a time I release him, then shuffle through the grass to stand at his side. "I hope you don't mind that I've come over here," I murmur.

"Oh, not at all," he answers, apparently not realizing I was teasing. "I was hoping you would."

He falls silent and I don't say anything either. The comfortable silence between us is filled only by the chirping of crickets ahead and distant bits of fractured conversation floating from the rest of the party behind us. The occasional breeze rustles the grasses like the world sighing.

"Agrias?" he asks eventually.

"Yes?"

"I know I said it before, but thank you for earlier." He pauses, and I get the feeling he is searching for words. "Not everyone is patient enough to sit through that, but ever since I met you, you've been there for me every time."

I shake my head at his earnest gratitude. Grabbing his hand in mine, I lift it and plant a kiss on its back. "Thank _you_ for letting you get that close to you."

Cloth rustles as he turns his head, and I eye him sideways, but he's not looking at my face. Instead, he's staring down the length of his arm, to where our fingers are still intertwined. "Agrias?" he asks again.

"What?"

"How do you..." He pauses, and his swallow is audible even over the wind and the crickets. "How do you feel about... holding hands and..."

"And what?" I prompt, already fairly certain what he's going to ask. I turn to face him full-on.

"And kissing?" he finishes faintly. His hand tightens on mine, perhaps without thinking.

He seems so young all of a sudden, but then I'm probably just as nervous as he is; I just don't let it dominate my face and manner. Where I once might have used his inexperience as a reason not to get closer, I now find it endearing. I share it too, after all. "I don't know," I answer quietly after a moment, watching his face. "Kissing sounds like an awfully big step."

"Oh. Yeah. I suppose it would be." He stares at the ground, toeing the stalks of grass between us.

I can't help but smile. Since his face is downcast, it presents no problem at all for me to lift mine up to kiss him on the lips.

I think he's too surprised to move. He doesn't kiss me back, but I'm too busy sighing in contentment to care. His lips are soft; usually I think of men as being all rough and hard and scratchy, but of course his lips are probably little different from mine. Though I understand people normally open them during kisses, he doesn't do so more than a little, which I attribute to his startlement. I take my time, not pressing him farther than he might be comfortable going.

Eventually I break the kiss and open my eyes, gazing up at him. He's still staring at me, frozen in shock. "Ramza? Are you alright?"

"You..." he manages. "You must be..." He blinks, then slumps in relief. "God, Agrias. I'm not used to you... kidding around."

"Sorry," I grin. "You might want to expect it more from me." In truth, I've always felt a little left out when everyone in the group teases one another, but now I have someone to try it on. I slowly let my smile fade before continuing. "To answer your question, though, I think they're both great ideas."

He smiles weakly at me, rubbing a hand through his hair. "And what about the rest?"

I raise an eyebrow at this, surprised that he'd take the initiative to ask about it. Surprised but pleased. It's good to know that his usual wide-eyed innocence won't prevent him from... well, anyway. "The rest," I echo, thinking.

He shifts uncomfortably. "Yeah. I don't want to... you know..."

I silence him with a finger on his lips. "Ramza, don't worry. You won't ever hurt me, and in the odd chance you get close, you'll know." Taking a deep breath, I hold it for a moment, then exhale. "As for your question... we can go as far as..." I cut myself off with a grimace, blushing, and scramble for a new way to say it, one that doesn't make me sound terrible. "I mean... I see no reason to... hold back from anything, but we need to... I don't know. Pace ourselves. You know?" My God, my cheeks feel like they could set my hair on fire. I'm shaking again as well, I realize.

"Oh, I know." My unease seems to soothe Ramza slightly, and he smiles at me. "Don't worry about it. I'm just glad to have you."

I wrap my arms around him once more. This time, I'm acutely aware of how toned his slim body must be under the clothes, and it takes me some time to stop shaking.

As I just stand there silent, he starts touching my face, running fingers through my hair. "So," he sighs quietly. "It looks like my watch is once again going to be the best part of my days."

I frown, then push back from him. "We don't have to keep this isolated to just one hour a day," I point out. "As long as we can act responsibly in front of everyone else, I don't mind us showing affection. I want you to be... comfortable around me."

"Oh." He stares back at me, then grins suddenly. "In that case, stop distracting me. I don't want cuars to gore us because I didn't notice them coming."

I laugh softly, stepping back to his side. "I remember when it was me giving you pointers on watch protocol."

He chuckles. "I remember that. They were all things I knew, too, but had forgotten because I was next to you."

I smile at the backhanded compliment, reaching to grip his hand again without looking as we gaze through the starry moonless night. "And to think," I murmur, "that I almost killed you that first night."

"What?" he exclaims, turning to face me. "What are you talking about?"

Oh. I laugh nervously, thumbing an earlobe as I slide my gaze back across the plains. "I thought you were an assassin," I admit sheepishly, shrugging. "You know how it is."

He frowns at me for a moment, then grimaces. "I'll just have to remember to stay on your good side," he mutters, giving my hand a squeeze.

I snicker, eyeing him fondly. "I'll leave you alone, then, but not before making certain that you remember me."

"Why wouldn't I remmmbmmm..." His lips are silenced by the sudden presence of mine, and this time he actually kisses me back.

Later, I'm fairly certain my feet touch the ground as I head back to my blankets, but I can't say for sure. However, before I reach them, I round one of the bigger rocks nearby and find myself staring at Meliadoul's chin. Blinking, I lift my gaze to meet the Shrine Knight's oddly-emotionless green eyes.

"I've already lost," she murmurs absently, eyes shifting as she reads my face. "Haven't I?"

My wits are still addled after kissing Ramza just now, so it takes a few moments for her words even to reach my awareness at all. After that, I chew on a lip, uncertain how to explain it without sounding like I'm gloating.

Meliadoul's face darkens slightly. "Of course. Is he happy?"

I give myself a shake to clear my head. "Apart from Zalbag and everything... yes."

She nods almost imperceptibly. "He'd better stay that way," she warns in a low voice, and for a time we just stare at each other. Shortly, though, she deflates. "I can't really blame either of you. Just... don't rub it in, and we'll be fine."

As she turns to go, I surprise myself by reaching out to catch her wrist. She turns and stares at me with dead eyes. I want to tell her I'm sorry, but... I'm not. "I'm glad we were able to keep it clean," I offer instead.

Meliadoul gazes at me for a time, then nods. "You were a... worthy adversary," she concedes. Then, without waiting for a reponse, she turns and wanders over to where she's set up her bedding.

Frowning in concern, I watch her for a moment, then shake my head and slip into my blankets. I fall quickly into dreams of warm hands and insistent lips.

The next morning, as we are dressing and preparing, I catch Ramza smiling at me a few times. I smile back every time, feeling myself blush, which in turn makes him blush. It's silly, and it feels like we're not acting our respective ages, but there it is. Rafa seems to find it all vastly amusing, and even Orlandu has a belly laugh over it.

As we start travelling across the Plains, I walk with Ramza, perhaps more closely than we had been before, but the difference isn't great. Meliadoul actually accompanies us for a time before falling back; despite her grim mood last night, she seems fine enough now, chatting and laughing with the others.

Monsters and a pair of squires attack us around midday, and shortly we're on our way again with a little extra gil. We don't quite reach Gariland by nightfall, remaining some few hours to its west, and as the fire gets going I battle Malak. The thought occurs to me to let him smack me again so Ramza can heal it for me, but I'm not that silly, and I get plenty of bruises even without taking a fall on purpose.

As we wander back to the fire, I smile at the thought of being with Ramza again tonight, and every night. No more having to trade off.

I sit next to him, of course, and we hold hands the entire evening. It makes me feel warm inside, just being with him like that, and I realize with mild surprise that I'm genuinely happy for the first time in memory. Always before the knighthood had gotten in the way, and after that my pent-up feelings for the man next to me. Now, we have the Shrine Knights and demons and everything, but they don't worry me because I'll be facing them with _him_.

I end up sharing his watch, and to my regret I can't bring myself to sit on his lap and keep him occupied with kisses; he _is_ on watch, after all. Perhaps next time I'll think to sneak him away beforehand.

Eventually he wakes Hannibal to switch, and I go to sleep. Next to him, of course. We're close enough that I could just reach over and pinch his nose, but I keep to myself. I don't know what else would come of it if I didn't, and like I told him, I want us to move along at a responsible pace.

The next day we reach Gariland Magic City; despite its name, it is also a port, one of the more important ones since it lies almost directly north of the Holy City, Murond. While Opal and Mustadio range out into the city to find passage aboard a ship, the rest of us claim a few tables at a portside inn.

I know we'll have a few hours, at least, so I take the chance to sit next to Ramza. It's hard to steal kisses decently in a room full of people, but I find a few ways. Shortly Strawberry begins to scowl at us, though, and I regretfully stop.

Eventually the monk and the mechanic return, claiming to have passage about a Lionel trade vessel called the _Spring Sprig_. However, the two of them come back with some interesting news.

"Cidolfas," greets Opal as she claims a seat at our table. "Did you know you're dead?" Mustadio grins as she speaks.

The old general pauses with mug of ale halfway to his mouth. "Dead?"

She nods. "You and Goltana killed each other at Bethla, apparently."

Orlandu sits there frozen for a moment, blinking, then shrugs and resumes drinking from his ale. "Jolly good, then," he remarks. Mustadio seems faintly put out at this lack of reaction, but Opal merely nods.

It strikes me as a little odd that we're just hearing about this now, but I suppose we've barely been in any cities recently for longer than it takes to walk from one end to the other. I wonder vaguely if this is a deliberate untruth put forth by someone trying to cover up Orlandu's embarassing disappearance, or if someone is genuinely attempting to give him a fresh start. I suppose I'll never find out.

About an hour later, the whole lot of us are strolling up the gangplank of the _Sprig_, though Ramza and Ironside have to push Boco forcefully. The chocobo seems fine once on the ship, however, so the rest of us carry our things up afterwards. Countless gulls circle and cry above, searching for dead or dying fish near the piers, of which there are likely many.

In moments, we're all up there, and the shiphands untie the vessel from its moorings. I watch them go about their handiwork for a time, but shortly the arrival of the captain, a bearlike man calling himself Galchanza.

"Choco can go in the holds," he grunts at us, standing with meaty fists on his hips. "Rest of you can sleep in the passenger bunks. Four to a room."

Ramza nods, holding an armful of feed we picked up for Boco. "When will we arrive in Murond?"

"Right about dawn," answers the captain curtly. "Do as you please, but don't interfere with me or my men."

"We can do that, Captain," agrees Ramza pleasantly. The bigger man nods once and wanders off, yelling at a crewman who's not moving fast enough to suit him.

Ramza turns to the rest of us, shifting his grip on the awkwardly-large sack in his arms. "Let's stow our things. We can meet back up here afterwards."

I nod, and the rest of us file down belowdecks. I drop my belongings in the same cabin as Ramza, but in the opposite bunk; I want to be able to hear him breathing as we sleep, but that's about it. I do have some consideration for the others with us.

Another thing I have, I recall uncomfortably as I begin climbing back to the main deck, is an uneasy stomach on the water. I don't know why, but I never even think about it until _after_ I've gotten onto another ship, and it takes just long enough to start affecting me that land is usually just out of sight when it strikes. I therefore spend the entire evening slumped near the... whatever it is they call the rail around the deck keeping us all from sliding off. I sit on a coil of rope, which doesn't help any, and Rafa, the sweet girl, sits next to me the whole time, rummaging through her pouches for anything that might remedy my condition. Ramza tries to sit next to me as well, but when he attempts to comfort me with a hug, I have to snap at him to get him away. I'll have to apologize later, of course, but I think he understands.

In any case, the night doesn't fare much better. I drift in and out of slumber the whole time. When Orlandu pounds on our door to tell us Murond's harbor is in sight, I roll out of my bunk with as much pleasure as I'll likely ever feel on a ship.

Perhaps a half-hour later, I am stumbling down to the rain-slick piers of Murond's harbor. I'm wearing a grey hooded cloak to conceal my identity to some degree, and Ramza has seen fit to wear a very similar green one, probably a loan from Meliadoul. Cold drizzle pelts the bottom half of my face as we stroll through the sparsely-populated morning streets of Murond.

The Cathedral here is a grand and imposing affair, towering lordlike over the surrounding city; it is an apt place for the heavy-handed Glabados Church to make its home, in my opinion. Fortunately for us, we are not headed into the main church, but rather a smaller adjoining temple where the Shrine Knights are based. Constructed of simple golden stone, the St. Murond Temple is considerably more humble in appearance and manner than the main church, as though the Knights are perfectly content to be overlooked.

Meliadoul's face, I note as we approach the temple, is a grim mask of determination. How would I feel, I wonder, if I had to attack the St. Konoe Knights? Well, likely I'd just kill them and be done with it, but I've not been in their fold for quite some time now; for Meliadoul, the break is a much more recent wound. I hope she doesn't flare up at someone while we're in there.

Before long, she guides Ramza to the temple's main gate and we wander through it. Curiously, a handful of guards stand within, rather than outside, but they challenge us nonetheless. Ramza, being Ramza, identifies himself openly and explains about Alma, and it's all the Shrine Knights can do to acknowledge him before they try to kill us. They aren't very skilled, and our party is in a rather serious mood, so after a few moments we leave them crystallizing behind us.

Meliadoul directs us towards the temple's main hall, and we jog through a few well-lit hallways before reaching it. Once there, though, we slow and stop, weapons drawn and ready.

Three men are standing there to meet us, completely unsurprised, all wearing the distinctive robes Shrine Knights seem to favor. The first to catch my eye is Vormav, I assume, based on his tangible presence of command, which makes the other two fellows Rofel and Kletian, his little pet spellslingers.

"So, you're Ramza," greets Vormav reasonably upon our arrival. "Nice meeting you. I'd ask you to dinner, but I'm too busy, so forgive me. I don't have much time." He pauses, dark eyes appraising Ramza and completely ignoring the rest of us. "So," he continues, "let me get down to business. If you want your sister, give me the Germonik Scriptures and all the Zodiac stones. If you don't do what I say, your lovely sister is dead. Now, hand them over!"

I can instantly see how this is the man orchestrating much of the world's present evil. Whereas others we've seen before have blustered and shouted, he is simply laying a choice before Ramza, in a voice as calm as though he were asking someone to choose between stew and steak for dinner. It's clear he knows how the balance of power lies in the room.

Ramza's face grows stormy. "Where's Alma?" he shouts. "Unless you show her to me now, I'll not hand over the Scripture or the stones!"

I gape at him, and Vormav blinks in apparent surprise as well. "Didn't you hear me?" he wonders curiously. "You have no choice. I'll say it again: hand them over!"

Ramza hesitates, glancing to me, but I just nod; whatever he does will almost certainly be the right thing. Chewing a lip, he steps forward, holding the leather-bound Germonik Scriptures over his head. "Only the Scriptures!" he decides. "I'll give you the stones only after I see Alma." He sets the book carefully on the ground and retreats a few steps.

The Shrine Knights exchange silent glances, and shortly Rofel trots forward. He retrieves the book, ignoring us in contempt, and begins to leaf through its aging pages.

Vormav grows impatient. "Well?"

"It's here," nods Rofel, slapping the book shut. "It's a simple curse."

I wonder at that. There are _spells_ in the Scriptures? Why didn't we notice that? Perhaps Ramza should have read it in its entirety... at some point, when we had a week to do it. I sigh.

"Good," purrs Vormav. "Now that we know, they're finished." He pauses, seemingly weighing something in his hands. "I could let them go," he muses, "but I'll get revenge for Velius and the others."

Ramza pales with fury. "You deceived me!" Vormav's only answer is laughter.

That doesn't sit well with Ramza, or with me. I think I'm growling as much as he is as we rush forward to attack. With only three of them, I'd like to think we have decent odds, but each of these guys probably has at least one stone.

"Why do you let Alma live?" wonders Ramza as we are fighting, with calculation in his voice, and I must admit the question is a good one.

Vormav jerks. "What?"

"You even killed your own son," notes Ramza as he trades blows with the man. "Why do you keep Alma alive?"

"That's none of your affair," replies the other man in a curt growl. "If you want to know, kill me."

"Father," calls Meliadoul, distracting him as she absently shatters Kletian's armor with one of her skills. "Are you really my father?" Her voice is oddly soft, with pain there I've never heard in it.

"Of course, dear daughter," coos Vormav reassuringly. "Why are you over there? When did you become the enemy?"

"I'm here because you're not the father you used to be," she snaps in response.

Vormav smirks, but in a moment his face is all wounded ignorance once more. "What do you mean?"

"At Limberry," she clarifies, "Marquis Elmdor used the Zodiac stone to turn into a monster. Father, wasn't it you who killed the people at Riovanes Castle... and also Izlude?"

"You're saying we're monsters?" repeats Vormav. Once again his voice lacks any semblance of concern, as though he were just asking about the weather. Blades continue to ring out against one another as we battle.

"You're not my father!" she shouts, impaling him with another attack that sends shards of metal clattering all over the temple. While Vormav is reeling, I unleash a blade spirit, lacerating him and Rofel.

The head Shrine Knight collapses to one knee. "I won't be beaten here," he rasps, glancing around in calculation. "I must escape!" Before anyone else can react, he leaps to his feet and bolts away, limping slightly as he runs deeper into the temple. The wounded Rofel and Kletian follow.

"Running away?" snarls Ramza. "Coward!" Breaking into a run, he chases after the other men, and the rest of us follow a half-step behind.

Vormav's pet sorcerors break off shortly in different directions, and Ramza ignores them, focusing on Vormav alone. I approve of this, not that he would ever have done anything different, so we follow down a broad set of stairs and into a part of the temple I assume is not used particularly often.

When it becomes clear Vormav has penned himself in a room with no other exits, we slow and spread out, weapons up and ready. "No more time to waste," he mutters to himself, standing near what looks to be a coffin and using it for considerable support. "I want to end this now, but you probably won't go quietly. I'm afraid your life must end here. My servants will be your opponnets." He pauses, smiling, a hard gesture that doesn't even come close to touching his eyes. "A coffin... just the thing for you. Rest in peace."

While Ramza is still struggling to come up with a suitable response, the air flickers and starts glowing ahead, slowly resolving into a trio of massive demons. Vormav isn't done, however, judging by the grin. "This man will also be your opponent," he declares.

The next figure to materialize drops my jaw. Zalbag. He doesn't look well, not at all, which I suppose makes sense considering he's dead. Or... undead.

"Zalbag!" shouts Ramza. Swords quiver in his fists.

"He may be your brother," remarks Vormav conversationally, "but he's joined our family. Think you can fight with him?" Without waiting for an answer, he disappears; his laughter echoes long after his body has vanished.

Ramza whirls, looking for the Shrine Knight, to no avail. "Dirty..." he mutters.

"Zalbag," calls Vormav's distant voice, "kill the boy before you! Don't let him leave this temple alive!" Zalbag's pale face lifts in an eerily-silent acknowledgement.

"Brother!" shouts Ramza in desperation. "Zalbag! It's me!" The rest of us spread out further and dart forward, tackling the slow-moving demons flanking the elder Beoulve.

"Is that you, Ramza?" asks Zalbag hollowly; his voice is a dead rasp, hardly recognizable as such. He lifts his blade slowly, then hesitates. "What am I doing? Can't feel a thing..."

"You're being controlled by Lucavi!" answers Ramza, typically to the point.

Zalbag seems surprised by this. "I'm... fighting you? Why?" His dead face frowns, and he lurches forward, swinging at Meliadoul, the nearest target. "Go, Ramza!" he calls. "Run! Or else I might... kill you."

"Brother!" Ramza's voice is an anguished whisper.

I turn away from a demon corpse long enough to notice that he's not engaging Zalbag; perhaps he's hesitant to bear steel against the brother he considers an innocent. I could understand that, from him.

I, on the other hand, am not so forgiving. Zalbag tried to kill my Ramza at Fort Zeakden and is being compelled to do it again now. I don't hesitate at all to unleash a Holy Explosion at the thing that used to be Ramza's brother. Meliadoul impales him a heartbeat later with one of those signature attacks of hers.

Zalbag's eyes widen in a very believable expression of surprise, and he collapses to one knee. "I'm so sorry, Ramza," he gasps, "to make you suffer. Save Alma... you're the only one who can. Goodbye, Ramza. Thank you." With the last word, he tumbles to the stone floor and dissipates eerily into nothingness.

Ramza stumbles forward a few steps. "Zalbag!" Tears are streaming visibly down his face now. I want to go to him, to wrap my arms around him, but motion out of the corner of my eyes stops me.

Meliadoul is striding towards him, an oddly-intent look on her face. Gripping Ramza's shoulder, she turns him about, then hugs him fiercely. I can still hear him sobbing, and I think her stiff expression is likely a mask against tears as well.

I turn away, leaving them to their privacy. They both had to fight close family members today, and I can't even imagine what that must be like. Beckoning the others with a gesture, I step out of the chapel to give them a moment.

Eventually they join us. Meliadoul's face is uncharacteristically subdued, while Ramza simply looks as though he just watched someone drown a kitten. I slip my hand into his, and together we set about searching the temple.

There remains little of interest but the scattered debris of tragedy, corpses generated as the church was betrayed by one of its own. I feel sorrow for some of them, the lackeys, those without a clue, but I can't make myself shed a tear for Funeral. When the old man gasps with his last breath to Ramza that Vormav and the others went to Orbonne Monastery, I find myself wondering if he even knows who he's talking to. Certainly there's some irony there, to spend the last year of his life hunting Ramza only to _help_ him at the end, after being done in by Vormav.

As we step out of the temple and into the city of Murond, my heart is pounding. I'm looking forward to this, I think. I'm actually eager to head to Orbonne to pursue Vormav and his stooges because... because I hate them. I _hate_ them. I don't think I've ever hated anyone before in my life, but I hate these guys. They're literal demons and they have some kind of personal vendetta against Ramza, and I want them to stop.

Fortunately, we're able to find another ship back to Gariland before any alarm is raised in the city. I wonder idly if maybe Vormav didn't help us out a bit there, by gutting the temple's leadership structure before we even got there, but as we're sailing away from the Holy City I can't make myself wonder about it too much.

In any case, after fighting Ramza's undead brother in the bowels of the Shrine Knights' temple in Murond, getting seasick strikes me as something of an anticlimax. I spend most of the journey alternating between nausea and a shallow, uncomfortable sleep. When we finally reach Gariland, it's dark out, and I'm just conscious enough to stumble down the gangplank and onto the pier. I'm vaguely aware of us finding an inn for the rest of the night, but its name and location totally escape me. All I notice as I drop onto my bed there is that it's even harder than those on the ship, and smells of sawdust besides.

The next morning, thankfully, I'm back to normal. We rise shortly after dawn and leave east out of the city.

Ramza is silent as we travel. That doesn't really surprise me, given what transpired yesterday, but what troubles me is that he's even quiet with me. Granted, there's not a lot of time for us to be talking as we hurry across Gallione.

When we stop briefly at midday to eat and rest, I pull him a short distance away from everyone else. "Is everything well?" I ask quietly, trying to conceal a smile; it seems one of us is always asking the other something along these lines. "I mean, as well as can be expected?"

He blinks at me for a moment as my question sinks into his mind. Behind him, the rest of the party stretches and seats itself among the scattered trees here.

Eventually he sighs. "I don't know, Agrias. It's all just... starting to weigh on me, I think."

I nod, throwing an arm around his neck to bring his face close to mine. "It doesn't have to, you know. You can let it weigh on me as well; that's what I'm here for."

His face creases in a weary smile. "I know that. I don't want to burden you with everything, though."

Well, that's his choice. I can't make him share everything with me, nor would I if I could. I nod, rubbing my cheek against his, and let him go.

Once we start up travelling again, he still doesn't say much but at least he's not just staring off into space. We make good time, crossing more than half of Sweegy Woods while daylight still reigns.

There's not much conversation around the campfire, and I can tell Ramza's not in the mood for kissing, so instead I just sit there and let him lean into me, his back against my chest. I hold him like that for perhaps an hour in the flickering orange light of the fire, and neither of us says a word. I think he actually dozes for most of that time, but when it's his time for watch, he climbs to his feet, gives me a quick kiss and wanders off into the darkness.

The forest's monstrous inhabitants do not disturb our slumber, so come morning, we are on our feet and moving again. We travel quickly; I think everyone can sense that things are drawing to a conclusion of sorts, that we've identified Vormav as our primary enemy and that he's running out of places to hide. Ramza is not the only one who stares at the eastern horizon grimly, as though expecting justice and perhaps death to be waiting just past it.

We reach Dorter just before nightfall. It's drizzling slightly as we shoulder through the door of Samuel's inn -- I can never remember its name; I just think of it as his -- and claim our rooms for the night. The food is warm, a pleasant change from our usual fare, and the beds are as soft as I remember, a fact brought to my attention sooner than I would have expected as Ramza leads me away from the party and into our room.

As soon as the door closes, he seizes my head in both hands and kisses me deeply. This, or at least his fierceness, catches me totally by surprise, causing my suddenly-weak legs to drop me onto my backside on the floor. He seems rather alarmed at my reaction, but I laugh it off and override his concerned questions with a kiss of my own.

Somehow we get to be lying on our sides on one of the beds -- I don't know whose -- and I can sense right away that Ramza wishes to... escalate our intimacy by a degree. I let him remove my coat, but when he goes for the shirt I wear underneath it, his hands are shaking so badly that I make him wait; there's no rush. He seems simultaneously relieved and frustrated, and I'll admit I tremble a little as well as I run my hands under his shirt, across his bare back.

That's as far as we get, and I'm not going to complain. It's weird, but sometimes I get the feeling that his hesitation is for _my_ sake, like he thinks of me as some innocent thing whose virtue he needs to protect, but if anyone meets that description, it's Ramza himself. Granted, this is all new to both of us, but... I don't know. It's endearing, I suppose.

Some time later -- I have no idea how much -- I pull my coat back on and we wander back down to the common room to let everyone know it's safe to retire; Mustadio and Alicia are supposed to be sleeping in our room as well. When we get down there, however, a pair of musicians have started playing, and half of our group is up dancing. This amuses me greatly; I would not have expected, say, Orlandu to dance so well, but he twirls a grinning Meliadoul around like she's made of feathers, and Mustadio's not bad either. Hannibal, I note, dances only with Strawberry.

After some cajoling from Rafa, I agree to dance with Ramza. He's not totally unskilled, I find, but he does keep staring at his feet to make sure he's not stepping on mine. It also probably doesn't help that I keep distracting him with little kisses.

Eventually we do make it to bed, perhaps later than we should. As I lie next to the snoring Strawberry in our narrow bed, though, I can feel the smile that's been stuck on my face for hours starting to fade into a frown.

I hope he didn't do all of this tonight because he's afraid he's going to die tomorrow. He's not that fatalistic, is he?

By morning, my worries seem as distant as the stars that watched over them, and we leave Dorter under a few lazy clouds and a grinning sun. The mood among everyone seems a little lighter after dancing and such, but we still press ourselves hard. As we stride under green and arching boughs, I can't help but shake my head; it all seems to come back to Orbonne Monastery. It's where I met Ramza and where we later lost Alma to the Shrine Knights, and it's now where we hope to retrieve her. And kill Vormav.

Slowly the morning wears into afternoon, and eventually the spires of the monastery grow visible through the branches of the surrounding woods. I can feel myself tensing as we approach, and when we can finally see the doors, I sigh. They're standing open, as though someone stode through and flung them aside, not bothering to close them again.

"They beat us here," mutters Ramza beside me, apparently making the same observation. His face clouds.

I nod. "But they don't know we're coming, this time."

"Maybe," he acknowledges with a grunt. "Let's hope we're not too late."

There's not too much I can say to that, so I just nod again. Really, with all the fighting that's been going on at Orbonne, I'm surprised there aren't more guards here.

Shortly we hop up onto the exposed portion of the underground libraries and, after instructing Boco to wait, make our way through the front doors. No one greets us with weapons drawn, which surprises me slightly.

"Underground," suggests Meliadoul. Ramza eyes her in silent acknowledgement, and we proceed without delay to the stairway leading us deeper into the shadowed earth.

After some four floors, we finally see some Shrine Knights. They attack us without bothering to issue threats or demands, and so we kill them without bothering to offer quarter. Just as the last of them is falling, I can make out the sound of rapid chanting floating up from somewhere below; I think it's Rofel's voice, and the sound sets my skin crawling.

"I won't let you go!" growls Ramza at no one in particular. Without looking back, he breaks into a run towards the stairs again, and the rest of us follow.

As we reach the next floor down, Rofel finishes his chanting and starts shouting at us. "I've been waiting for you, Ramza. That's far enough! Rest eternally beneath this monastery!"

We file out of the stairway to face the mage and his minions. Ramza shuffles forward, a look of vague recognition painting his features. "This feeling's the same as when I fought Celia and Lede! You're not human."

Rofel grins like a madman. "No, I am not. I've risen above humans. I have obtained eternal life with the help of Vormav's power." He pauses to giggle. "You can't understand the joy."

"What are you trying to do?" demands Ramza. "What do you want?"

"Do you really want to know, Ramza?" laughs the robed man. "If you do, then you'll have to beat me. That is, if you can!"

Shaking my head at his arrogance, I advance a step behind Ramza and fire off a Holy Explosion at Rofel, ignoring his thugs. Meliadoul seems to have the same plan, for she does likewise with one of her steel-shattering attacks. Rofel grunts, sidestepping a blow from Ramza and hurting Ironside rather badly.

Shortly, however, blinding light flares up through the Shrine Knight as Strawberry works her arts with ruthless precision. Rofel screams and staggers. "I can't die here," he gasps, eyes growing wider, even more wild. "I haven't finished my duty. Ramza... I invite you to Hell!" He begins to chant again, a desperate cadence of blood-freezing syllables.

Scowling, I stride over towards the fool to hack him down once and for all, but he finishes the spell before I can reach him. Then the floor begins to shake.

I hesitate, glancing about. An odd mist begins to develop, floating about, touching everyone present with ethereal tendrils. The floor continues to rumble, more violently now, until I can hear chunks of stone falling against it and shattering.

Abruptly white light obscures everything. I throw back my head to scream, and find that I cannot; I'm frozen, trapped like an insect in amber, and I can't see a thing. A million violent pinpricks ripple through my body from front to back, and I would gasp and whimper if I could.

The sensation ends with all the gentle letdown of a kick to the skull. I stand in place, wide-eyed and trembling, and it takes a moment for my surroundings to register.

We're on a... platform, of sorts, I can see, elevated above the floor in an unfamiliar room. The rest of our party is scattered about in disarray; I spot Rafa groaning with her eyes closed a short distance away, while Hannibal is pushing himself up on hands and knees, shaking visibly.

On the floor near the wall, I spot Rofel, who looks to be dying. A gleeful smile, one of triumph, twists his features, looking rather incongruous given his situation.

"What is this?" gasps Ramza, shaking himself free of the aftereffects of... whatever spell that was. His voice seems to carry differently than I would expect, as though something is awry with the air here.

"Welcome to Murond, Death City," whispers Rofel, gesturing grandly. "Now that you're here, you can never return. All we have to do now is to destroy that entrance..." Raising a hand, he closes his eyes and concentrates.

The platform under my feet begins shaking. With a panicked yelp, Ramza leaps to another nearby surface. Gritting my teeth, I do likewise, pausing to assist a shaking Lavian. The rest of the party completes their leap to safety an instant before the platform crumbles and falls, huge chunks of stone tumbling into a fathomless black pit. I frown at that, thinking; under the monastery, there should just be clay, or maybe...

Something draws my eyes up. And up. The ceiling above where we arrived is missing, and where the sky should be is just a... swirling black vortex, something that has no place in the world I know.

Oh... my... God. He wasn't kidding. We're actually _in hell_.

Rofel speaks again, tearing my attention from the unnatural sight above. "Go on," he rasps. "Your sister is waiting." With the last word, he slumps, manic grin frozen on his face forever.

"Alma," whispers Ramza. Shaking his head, he hops carefully to the floor, then waits while the rest of the party makes its way down as well. "How is everyone feeling?"

"Like hell," grunts Hannibal. I meet his mischievous gaze for a moment, then start giggling. Soon my giggles turn into laughter, which I hear echoed from others around the room as well. It's so silly, so absurd to joke about being here, but what else are we going to do?

"Let's go," sighs Ramza, striding for the doorway. I follow, slipping my hand into his. I don't even mind being in this place as long as it's with him.

We wander out of the odd little structure where we arrived and find ourselves on a vast plain of... something like stone. Ramza leads the way, and though it seems he's moving about at random, the look of concentration on his face leads me to believe otherwise. Above, the glittering blackness swirls vertiginously.

It doesn't take us long to find more people. We crest a jagged rise, and on the other side a handful of Shrine Knights whirl to face us, headed by Kletian.

"So," he greets evenly, "Rofel's been defeated? Then, unless I defeat you, I can't face him. Come on!"

I don't need more encouragement than that. I sprint ahead, tacking towards the goons on the right flank, and fire off a Holy Explosion, killing one and wounding another. Vaguely I'm aware of Ramza and Kletian shouting at one another as they battle, but I ignore them as I often do, preferring not to be distracted while people are trying to kill me. I really don't want to die in this place, as I'm... not entirely certain what would become of me, if anything.

In moments we've killed off the muscle, leaving only a crippled Kletian standing before Ramza. "Forgive me, Rofel," he gasps, then collapses.

Ramza scowls at the corpse, but before he can speak, a flash from one direction draws his attention, and a thundrous rumble soon follows. "Over there?" he wonders grimly. "Let's go."

I spare a quick glance at the sorceror's body as we rush past; it still strikes me as odd that anyone can die here at all, but I'm not going to second-guess what I've seen. I give no more thought to the fallen, though, as we rush ahead.

In short moments we come across another squad of Shrine Knights, led by... Balk, it seems. What the hell? He's dead. Of course, I guess that's no reason we can't fight him again here.

"Nice to see you, kid!" he offers in an almost friendly fashion. "I was beaten before, but not this time. I'll make Death City your grave!"

Growling, I ignore the yelling duel that erupts between him and Ramza. Leaping over a narrow divide, I land with a roll and slice another Holy Explosion at a... hydra, I think. My attack spears the thing, but doesn't kill it, of course; they're remarkably tough beasts. The hydra, however, counters with a trio of searing blasts of flame. Only one hits me, but that's enough to blind me with pain and bring me to my knees.

Moving by instinct alone, I roll to one side, feeling more than hearing a clawed foot stomping into the ground beside me. Trying to ignore how my breath rattles in my lungs, I slash my sword forward again, spearing the creature with another pillar of holy light. A beastial cry rewards my efforts.

Sagging, I fumble around on my person for the hilt of the katana with the healing spirit, then draw it. A circle of gentle tears falls, washing away some of the charred areas on my exposed skin. Heaving a sigh of relief, I stand and try to gain a quick measure on the fighting.

The party has done well without me, it seems; only Balk is left among our enemies, and as I watch, a snarling Meliadoul hacks him savagely down from behind. Well. I'm glad we agree on how these guys should be treated.

Something flashes within Ramza's garments, and he glances down in surprise. "The stone is sympathizing," he murmurs. "That way," he decides, pointing straight ahead. Opal sidles up to me and offers a chakra, healing the rest of my injuries, and we begin to move again.

Guided by the stone that I still don't trust, we roam the lonely plains of the underworld. I expect a battle again any moment, but one fails to materialize, and I find myself wondering about that. With Vormav apparently able to use even dead servants against us, why don't they keep coming? Is there a reason we don't just fight, say, Balk until he manages to kill us? Or Zalbag again, perhaps, or even Velius?

As we continue to roam, perhaps becoming lost -- though such a distinctiion matters little here, I suspect -- another thought dawns on me. I know people can die here, as I've seen it happen, and since the dead do not continue to plague us... are we really in hell? Or is this just some other... place... separate from both the world and the underworld? In that case, Rofel's words notwithstanding, there might indeed be a way out. In fact, there ought to be anyway, if the Shrine Knights are using this world for whatever it is they're...

"Whoah," says Ramza suddenly. His hand pulls me to a halt.

I blink about, realizing we're in a massive field of what look to be old airships, just like the stories always told about. Odd. I could have sworn they weren't here a moment ago. Frowning, I turn slowly in a full circle, gazing out across the silent wooden wrecks, but it seems they extend past the range of my vision in every direction.

"That's a little weird," notes Alicia helpfully.

Ramza nods absently, gesturing off to one side. "Over here."

Adjusting my grip on his hand, I accompany him. The party is moving slowly now, cautiously. I don't even know why, but it seems the sheer strangeness of this place subdues any sense of urgency we might have.

Carefully we step under one wreck after another. I can't help but feel as though we're at the bottom of some sea, since the airships above sway slowly as though to gentle unseen currents. Most even have anchors of sorts, heavy iron things sprouting chains which arc up into their floating hosts. Every time one of them creaks, my skin crawls and I grind my teeth.

Some time later, Ramza stops again. "It's this one," he whispers, gesturing up a length of chain that rises... I don't know how far. At least fifty paces. The holy stone in his fist glows in soft agreement.

"So... do we climb it, or what?" asks Mustadio, scratching his head. Strangely, this place doesn't seem to have affected his mood at all.

"I suppose," shrugs Ramza. Pocketing the stone, he stares up the length of the chain and begins to climb.

Oh, God. My stomach is swirling just thinking about climbing that high on a thing that's not even straight. Ramza seems to be having little trouble, using the giant links almost as he might a ladder, but I can feel my face going pale watching him.

Once he's a short distance up the chain, Alicia sets up after him, followed by Ironside. I pull my gauntlets off and wipe sweat on my coat front, watching them.

Slowly the party members scramble up the chain, taunting me with how easy they're making it look. Eventually it's just myself and Orlandu at the bottom, with Mustadio just beginning to climb.

"You can go ahead," urges the general, gesturing at the chain. "I can bring up the rear. Or... bottom, in this case."

I offer him a weak smile. "I'd rather go last." At least then if I fall I won't kill anyone but myself.

He frowns at me for a moment, then chuckles, patting my shoulder reassuringly. "I understand. You'll be fine, though." Once Mustadio is a good five paces up, Orlandu smiles at me once more, then begins ascending, a series of rhythmic clinks.

Swallowing, I rest my hands on the chain, watching him climb. The metal hardly sways at all under the motion of everyone on it, which I suppose is reassuring, but it still begs the uncomfortable question of how and why it's _floating_ at all.

All too soon, Orlandu is far enough up that I can start to climb. I... need to go up. I can't make them wait on me, can't delay or ruin what could be our chance to find Alma. I can't do that to Ramza, I realize. I'd rather die than let him down.

Blinking, I start to climb. With that decision in mind, it doesn't even bother me that much, though the flakes of rust in my mouth and on my hands get old quickly. About midway up, I pause to wipe sweat from my palms again, then resume my passage.

Before I even realize it, I'm squirming through a pulley of some sort and into a little chamber near the... bow, I think, is what they call the front of a ship. Ramza and Opal are there, grabbing my arms and pulling me the rest of the way up.

"This way," he whispers, gesturing with the holy stone at an iron-rung ladder set into the vessel's wooden walls. Faint shadows shift eerily on his face with the movement.

I climb, reaching the deck a short moment later. Everyone else is there, crouching behind a short structure from which rises one of the ship's masts.

Ramza appears right after me and nods a question at Ironside. "What's happening?"

"Vormav's there," explains the ninja quietly. "With Alma, who's unconscious. He's just muttering to himself."

Ramza's face tightens but he nods again. Without a word he steps out to face the Shrine Knight, drawing his blades. I follow a step behind him, hastily pulling on my gauntlets again.

As Ironside claimed, Vormav is standing in the center of the deck, scowling down at a motionless Alma. At the motion of our arrival, he glances up, not visibly upset. "You're here."

"That's far enough, Vormav!" calls Ramza menacingly, or as menacing as he can be. "Virgo's not working, so give up and hand Alma over!"

"No, it will work," insists the other man distantly; he seems preoccupied somehow. "It just needs more... you didn't hear? It just needs more blood." He pauses to smile, and the distracted look disappears from his eyes. "Lots of blood is needed for the Angel's resurrection. Much bloodshed since Ajora's death, but I guess it wasn't enough. I guess I'll have to go on another rampage!" His grating laughter floats up through the darkness towards us. "Don't worry... I'll sacrifice you first!"

While he's still laughing, lightning crackles in a sphere around him, quickly obscuring his form in blinding golden light. When it shortly explodes, in his place is the Zodiac demon I recognize as Hashmalum. "Master," he roars at the heavens... or, at _up_. "Bloody Angel! Let me offer you blood darker than wine and hotter than burning lava!"

I draw my blade, running to attack him, or it. Ironside beats me there, hacking with two blades into demonic flesh, while Meliadoul is advancing with her weapon whirling.

Ramza, however, rushes to the side of his unconscious sister. "Alma! Hold on, please! Open your eyes! Alma!"

"It's no use," growls Hashmalum, swatting Ironside aside like a troublesome fly. "You cannot wake her."

Ramza turns to snarl at the demon. "What have you done to Alma?"

"Her existence impedes our goal," explains the thing that used to be Vormav. "When she wakes, she will remember her mission... her important mission to call our allies."

Shouting wordlessly, Ramza attacks, his edges almost blurring with speed as he slices into Hashmalum. I summon a Lightning Stab into the demon, to avoid hitting any of my friends, then watch as he gestures, freezing Meliadoul in time. Ironside still hasn't gotten up from where he was thrown earlier, I note.

Strawberry lets loose some devastating spell or other on our enemy, and I follow it up with another Lightning Stab. While Hashmalum is still reeling, Ramza sinks both edges into his chest, into where his heart would be if he had one.

The Zodiac demon howls and stumbles backwards, tearing the swords from Ramza's hands and clattering them carelessly to the deck. "Master," he roars, "you are not awake yet?"

Something flashes near Alma, likely another stone. She stirs, sitting up groggily and touching her head. "Where am I?" she mumbles, glancing about in confusion.

Ramza, in the middle of retrieving his weapons, darts towards her, sliding the last pace on his knees. "Alma!"

She jerks, staring at him in wide-eyed astonishment. "Brother? Ramza?"

"I won't let you interfere," snarls Hashmalum. "Bloody Angel! I offer my own life for your resurrection!" And, to my horror, the demon plunges claws into his own chest and starts to shake. A moment later he explodes like all the others have, a brief dazzling flash of sunlike light, and then his stone drops to the ground.

As if in response, Alma's stone flashes as well. A column of braided light flares down from above and into her, quickly exploding into radiant excess. When my eyes clear Hashmalum is gone, and Alma is standing there instead. Her features look... different, though, somehow.

She grins suddenly, plucking at her red-and-white dress. "I have my body back."

I swallow. That wasn't Alma's voice, or at least not her normal inflection. So that was their plan with her, after all.

"Alma," whispers Ramza, shuffling uncertainly forward.

Her stone glitters, reacting to something. "What?" mutters Ajora, apparently confused. "What is this?"

The stone flashes fitfully again, and Ajora clutches her... his?... head. "Help... Brother..."

"Alma!" Ramza darts forward, hovering nearby as though to catch her if she were to fall.

"Brother Ramza," rasps the strange new Alma. "Stop. Don't... interfere." Her face twists in exertion, and she begins repeating herself in a mutter. "Do not interfere... Do not interfere..." Ramza simply stands there, helpless and horrified.

Another column of sparkling light lances down into Alma, and I throw an arm in front of my eyes. When it seems the pyrotechnics have dissipated, I dare to look again, and then there are... two Almas. One looks... well, evil.

Ramza slides over to where his sister is now. "Alma! Are you okay?"

"Brother," she breathes weakly, still crouched on the ship's crumbling deck, "I'm alright. We have to... kill Ajora. Hurry."

"Are you trying to stop my resurrection?" hisses Ajora without even raising his head. It unnerves me to no end to see him like that, speaking with such obvious malevolence while wearing Alma's face and her red dress. It would be comical, if we weren't floating on an abandoned airship in the middle of hell. "I won't let you! Come out, my servants!"

Ajora doesn't even move, but four massive demons materialize behind him, grim and muscled things ready to claw our faces off for their master. "I will not let anyone prevent my resurrection!" shouts Ajora. A rippling mass of crimson and violet light surrounds him, rumbling the entire ship with the mere proximity of its power, and when it explodes away, a winged... thing... is floating in his place. I recognize it only by description, from something Ramza read in the Germonik Scriptures, but I think it's Altima.

Odd. I'd always thought Altima was male, and yet this thing... well, anyway.

"Prepare yourselves, powerless ones!" she rumbles. Claws extend from her wings and through what look to be scarlet leather gloves.

Ramza screams like a madman and rushes the demon, or demigod, or whatever it is, scoring two nasty gashes with his blades. Torn, I stand between Altima and Alma, trying to protect the girl by being an obstacle to any blows directed at her, then level a Holy Explosion at the demon. She manages to claw Ramza rather badly across the face, making him scream, while Hannibal jumps in and sticks a spear almost clear through her. As I'm hovering, looking for an opening to strike without crippling any of my friends, Meliadoul finally snaps free from her earlier torpor and, without even asking what's going on, shrieks a wicked slash into Altima's ribs.

The winged demon cringes in visible pain. "No... this can't be!" she gasps. "You're... the descendant of the one who killed me before. No. I won't be beaten... I won't be beaten..." While I'm vaguely wondering why these Lucavi types find it so astonishing that they can die, Altima disappears into thin air.

I blink, exchanging a confused glance with Ramza. I open my mouth to ask something... I don't even know what... but I don't get the chance to speak.

An unbelievable concentration of power builds somewhere nearby, invisibly, then spills out into reality in a deafening display of magical capacity that literally drives all thought out of my mind. I can only watch, transfixed, as energy flexes and flows around us, a torrent of pale blue light that sweeps away the forms of the other demons as though they were less than dust. Eventually it concentrates into a blinding ball and explodes violently.

I shake myself, staring up at the new form of Altima. This one, though still winged, is at least three times as tall as a man, and grins down at us with an empty skeletal face. "I will kill you!" he thunders.

Before the words are out of the thing's mouth, one of Strawberry's spells lances through it, leaving a faint trail of wispy smoke in its wake. Ramza and Hannibal both attack, weapons whirling, and I think they both draw blood... such as it is... but things are moving so quickly I can't be certain.

Behind me, Alma starts whispering a spell and runs off towards the aft of the ship, so I take the opportunity to blast a Holy Explosion through the new Altima. Meliadoul hacks into the thing as well, taking a vicious claw for her troubles, and before she can do anything Ramza finds another opening, laying open Altima's back with his two blades.

The demon freezes up and begins to tremble. "More... power..." it grates, a sound capable of shattering glass.

As I watch, Altima's form begins to crack and splinter, with odd wisps of color drifting out as though the body is no longer strong enough to contain all the magic needed to sustain it. Little bits of wood, I note with some alarm, are beginning to float into the air as well, while a dull rumble somewhere below grows steadily louder. When a muted explosion sounds from someplace nearby, I move by instinct, throwing myself between Altima and Ramza.

There is light, an all-encompassing white light, then pain. Then darkness.

* * *

_Warm. Silent warmth, sunlight on my face. I open my eyes._

_I'm in the courtyard in Lesalia, sitting on a bench with my chin in my hands. It's green here, a painfully-beautiful verdant freshness as though it's the bloom of spring. I can smell the vegetation as well, the growing and flowering things all around, thick in the air like perfume._

_There's a rosebush in front of me. I blink, staring at its tender blossoms; nearby, birds chirp and converse, unconcerned by anything except the fact that it's spring. After a moment, my eyes well with tears and I shut them._

_The roses are too beautiful. It hurts me to gaze upon them further. My mother would love to see them, though. Where is she, I wonder? Should she be here? I don't know why she wouldn't; this is Lesalia, but I don't know where she is, and now the roses are radiating their sublime beauty into the courtyard for no one but myself to appreciate. I don't deserve to behold such a sight._

Agrias?

_I lift my head, confused, and glance about, but I find no one. The voice... was it a voice?... was familiar, someone I know, someone who moves me to tears once again without even knowing why. My father, perhaps? I know I haven't seen him in some time, but I would like to do so again sometime soon._

Agrias? Can you hear me? Please, not you too...

_I frown uncertainly, staring at my hands. I can't move them, like something is... constraining them. Holding them. But there's nothing there, not even my gloves. My creased palms stare back at me, pink and clean as though freshly washed._

Agrias, please wake up. Please.

_Additional warmth caresses my cheeks, oddly localized in little spots like teardrops, but I'm not crying. They're not my tears. I stand up, whirling about. Who's doing this? My heart pounds, a frightened drum._

Agrias, please come back to us. To me. Please.

_Something in the voice stirs faint memories, and a blurry face appears in my mind, growing more distinct by the moment. My breath catches somewhere in my throat. Ramza?_ "Ramza?"

"Agrias." His voice cracks with relief. Warm lips press against one of my closed eyelids, then the other, and his tears run affectionately over my face.

My body is wracked with pain -- I don't even want to think about how many bones I've shattered -- but my lips curve into a smile without any effort at all, because he's here. "Don't tell me we made it."

His short laugh carries as much sorrow as mirth, and his lips press another kiss against my forehead. "Okay, I won't."

* * *

Author's Notes: ...okay, it's done. Finally. This ended up being longer than I expected. I did not intend this story to be a full-fledged walkthrough, but there you go. 

Serious thanks go out to everyone who's read and reviewed this thing. Without your feedback it likely would have languished after five or six chapters, only to be finished as time and whimsy allowed. Kudos to you all.

If anyone cares, the name of the fic is lifted directly from the song by DJs Force and Styles. While it's technically a breakup song, I suppose, it's sweet and loving and honest, which are the moods I wanted to convey here. Probably none of you have even heard it anyway.

Once again, thanks for the patience of everyone who waded through this. Perhaps I can return the favor sometime.


End file.
